First Times
by maya295
Summary: This series is a collection of ONE-SHOTS that will explore "first times," meaning all kinds of reasons -good or bad- why House and Cuddy could have had sex together throughout the course of the show - which means, all stories will be necessarily set before "Help Me" - Warning: explicit content in EVERY chapter! ;P
1. Out Of Our Systems

_I thought about exploring all kinds of "first times" House and Cuddy could have had (meaning, they have sex) during the course of show, for all kinds of reasons… the idea here is about trying to find different circumstances why this would happen, as well as who would initiate it._

_Because for "sex" to happen, there needs to be an opportunity (the context), a motive (the pretext), and an "instigator" of sort (the one that makes the first move) _

_This one that, for now, I'm posting as a one-shot, is set just after "Insensitive" (season 3) - __Opportunity__: Cuddy's date left. Motive: Horny. Instigator: Cuddy..._

_Also, this story is for **Ally**. Just because I owe her an email alert… ;D_

* * *

**** OUT OF OUR SYSTEMS ****

**First Times series**

She liked sex.

She'd never denied that. And tonight, finally, she was about to get some, when he… when that _jerk_, once again, had ruined it all for her. She was so frustrated and angry! How dare he mess with her life like that? How dare he think he could show up at her place and take the only chance to get laid she'd had _in months_ away from her? God, she was so pissed! And frustrated. She liked Don. Don was a nice guy. Funny, charming, well-educated and…rich. And he was handsome, too. She was willing to have sex with him. Hell, she was _about to_… Everything was going on so well until… until House had shown up and, as usual, under another one of his annoying, so-called medical pretexts had dragged her outside, forcing her into an argument about… about what, by the way? She couldn't even remember what his excuse was this time. But it didn't matter. In the end, the result was just the same: she'd acted like a fool, playing his game, saying things about Don she didn't even mean to say and now he was gone. And it was all House's fault!

Cuddy was pacing in her living room - stomping would have been more correct - and she was desperately waiting for that pent-up sexual energy to subside, but it wouldn't go away. She'd tried to drink herbal tea. She'd tried to listen to music. She'd even turned the TV on for a while but nothing was the least bit distracting enough. Her mind, she had to face the truth, was just utterly single-tracked on one thing and one thing only: she needed to get off. She briefly thought about taking a bath, maybe masturbating, while she relaxed in scented soap bubbles but she knew it wouldn't give her the release her body was craving. If anything, it would only make her crave more and God, more was the last thing she wanted to be desperate for at the moment…

Damn House and his stupid need to constantly meddle in her life! Why was she even letting him? All this time, she'd been indulging his need to pry, answering his questions, allowing him to know who she was seeing, _when_ she was seeing them…

"_There are only two reasons why someone would want to screw with me tonight. Either they're an altruistic, decent person who's worried about my well being or, they want me for themselves_."

She thought about the conversation they'd had on her doorstep, how he'd looked at her while she'd said that. His wicked gaze and smile, the way he'd stared down at her, ogling her cleavage without an ounce of unease… Argh, he was driving her positively crazy!

She felt an almost painful spasm contracting her lower abdomen and she stopped pacing abruptly. An urge to squeeze her legs together tightly took hold of her. Before she could even help it, her hand slid along her belly and she pressed her clenched fist against her pelvic bone. House's face smiling teasingly at her popped up in her mind and she jerked her hand away from her upper thighs.

"Bastard," she muttered through gritted teeth, feeling ridiculous and miserable and… horny.

"_You left out the third option: Evil bastard who just wants to mess with other people's happiness_."

His voice echoed inside her head and a frustrated groan escaped her lips. Well, no. She wasn't going to let him win this time! All that bantering and bickering of theirs had to lead somewhere, for once! Why should it matter anyway? They had a past, an insignificant and distant one, but still, he was not a complete stranger. And he was a friend, well sometimes, when he was not just being that completely obnoxious jerk who got on her nerves and made her want to throw things at him. But she trusted him, somehow. It was a weird feeling, one that felt absolutely unreasonable of her to have - from an outside point of view at least – but she couldn't help it. The truth was she knew what was behind that shell. She'd had a peek at what was boiling underneath once, a long time ago. And it was not as awful as he liked people to think it was…

"_Do you like me, House?_"

She'd seen it. There, behind his eyes. There was something. Imperceptible maybe, but she knew better…

Without thinking twice – otherwise she'd probably have gone to bed and swallowed one or two sleeping pills before she could truly realize what she was about to do – she picked up her phone and dialed his number. He groaned into the receiver and she felt a slight, almost bitchy satisfaction at the idea that maybe, she had woken him up.

"House, you need to come to my place," she said, with a steady, bossy voice.

"Huh?"

"My place. I want you here," she repeated.

"What's so urgent?" he asked, incredulous.

"I…err, need you to come," she answered, remaining vague, trying not to let her hesitation show through too much.

There was a pause at the other end of the line, during which she could practically picture him frowning in disbelief, trying to process what was happening.

"Cuddy, don't get me wrong," he finally said after a beat, "not that I'm not into threesomes, occasionally, but really, you know, I'm not too fond of that two guys-one girl combination. Usually, I prefer when it's the other w-"

"Just come. Now," she commanded.

"Everything ok?" he asked and his voice suddenly sounded a little bit worried, which sent an oddly relieving shiver through her body that gathered at the center of her core. "Is Dick still here?"

"His name is Don," she corrected. "And he's gone." _Because of you_, she thought, "You have 15 minutes."

"Geez, you do realize it's almost nine thirty in the evening, right? There's a reason why I don't do night shifts, you know. So if it's about work, I-"

He stopped, realizing he was just reeling off a monolog, the characteristic sound of the hung-up tone echoing at the other end of the line. He stared at his cell in bafflement, with a 'what-the-fuck' look on his face and slid it shut.

"Babe, your bath is ready," a sugary voice called from his bathroom, "scalding, just as you like it."

A blond girl appeared at the doorframe, wearing an outrageously short, low-cut nurse outfit that looked more like a ridiculous Halloween costume than a real professional lab coat. She was all legs and boobs and lips, flaunting them at his face all at once, as she was swaying her hips suggestively in front of him with a knowing smile on her not-so-innocent face.

"I've gotta go," House said, sitting on the edge of his bed to put his sneakers on.

"What?" the bimbo exclaimed, pouting exaggeratedly in perfectly fake disappointment. "But I just got here."

"Yeah, well, sorry. Life sucks," he said dismissively.

He tied his shoes' laces and got up. Then he fished inside his jeans pocket and took a few 20 out of it.

"Here," he said, handing the money to her. "I don't know how long it's gonna take so looks like we need a rain check."

The hooker took the money and slid it in the front pocket of her white coat. She pouted some more.

"Work?" she asked.

"You can stay and soak in the tub if you want," he answered, ignoring her question, "But then, you go."

He walked to the closet in his hallway and grabbed his leather jacket and one of his canes in the golf caddie. The girl followed after him and watched him put the jacket on, standing next to him, conspicuously invading his personal space. She smoothed the leather of the sleeve out with one hand, stroking up and down the side of his arm and he instantly shook her off, almost unconsciously, but in a deliberate enough way that she felt the need to remove her hand from him and take one step back.

"Just close the door on your way out," He told her, his voice neutral and unaffected, before exiting his apartment.

# # # # #

Cuddy swung the door open even before he could knock on it a second time with his cane's handle. Holding it mid-air, he tilted his head to the side and scrutinized her with a quizzical look. She was wearing the same clothes she wore earlier when he'd paid her a completely uncalled-for visit, just to annoy her. He noticed she hadn't put her bra back on quite instantly, too.

"You been standing behind the door this whole time?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her in this typical what-are-you-hiding-from-me intrigued look of his.

"Come in," she invited, stepping aside to let him enter her house.

House took a few steps inside and stopped in the hallway, standing between her living room on the right and the dining room, to his left. He checked the empty space around him, incredulous, while she leaned against the arched wall that separated the entry from her living room, her hands crossed at the small of her back.

"So, what's the matter, Cuddy? You found a spider in your bedroom and you need my help to crush it before you go to sleep?"

"Don left," she deadpanned, unmoved by his taunting comment.

House's eyebrows arched in mock surprise.

"Well, don't blame _me_. I'm not the one who brought him home after going out on a date with him. I'm not accountable for whatever scary, naughty things you did to him that had him run away afterwards"

"He left _because of you_," she specified, already feeling that very particular, very unique tension building between them. "So yes, I'm blaming you."

House stared at her, his curiosity definitely aroused.

"And, if you must know," she added, lifting her chin up and staring back at him defiantly, "we didn't have sex."

A hint of a smile reached his eyes and he leaned forward on his cane.

"You didn't?" he said, barely hiding his relief behind a fake display of empathy.

"No, I didn't. _Because of you_," she repeated, as if it were the key to everything.

"How's that possible? I wasn't even here!"

"Because," she started, with a resolute tone, "you came here, and then you made that scene outside and-"

"That _scene_?"

"Yes House, _childish_ scene, and then when I came back inside, Don well, Don decided it was better for him to…"

House's eyes widened in astonishment and his smile grew bigger, showing he was unmistakably reading between the lines, understanding he'd been too much of a competition for Don to handle, which, in turn, completely upset Cuddy.

"Never mind," she snapped. "Bottom line is, had you not shown up tonight, I would have had sex and I haven't."

House frowned and pursed his lips, trying to decide if he should go for cynically amused or completely taken aback.

"Then what? My little visit chased your date away so now you wanna punish me?" he tested. "Ok, hit me. What's it gonna be? One week of clinic duty?"

She held his gaze but didn't answer.

"Two weeks?" He raised his eyebrows, surprised.

Still no answer.

"Oh come on, Cuddy! From what I gathered of Eastern Lube dude, he may have been good-ish in the sack, but surely not worth three weeks of swabbing crotches," he protested theatrically.

"I'm very frustrated," she finally said, glaring at him a little.

"Yeah, welcome to my world," he replied.

"I was going to get laid."

"So was I!" he exclaimed. "Coz, FYI, I was about to take a bath with a very, very caring and devoted nurse when you called."

Cuddy took in a sharp breath and briefly averted her gaze to hide her surprise – or maybe her disappointment? – hoping he hadn't registered it.

"Aww, House," she said, pouting mockingly, "did I ruin your evening with Tuesday hooker?"

"You did. You happy now? Can we call it even?"

"No."

House rolled his eyes skyward and sighed in exasperation.

"Gee, fine. Ok. What do you want, then?"

"I was going to have sex," she told him again. She held her left hand up and touched the tip of her index finger with her thumb. "I was this close," she added and she stared into his wide blue eyes, persistently, until it made him noticeably squirm in discomfort.

"I'm not sure I'm following you." He stuttered, but his eyes were telling the exact opposite. His eyes were clearly saying he perfectly understood what she was implying.

His pupils dilated, and he couldn't help but lick his lower lip as he gulped to swallow back the lump in his throat.

"Why'd you call me?" he suddenly asked, ending the double-entendre once and for all with that simple question.

She smiled flirtatiously at him and fluttered her eyelids a little.

"Because, I trust you House, and you're-"

"Cut the crap," he cut her off abruptly. "Why _me_?"

"Well," she sighed exasperated, "In case you haven't noticed, I work fourteen hours a day, six days a week. It's not exactly the best way to meet plenty of available guys who'd be willing to date me. Except for Don, who, may I remind you, **_left_**. Because of you! So you owe me, House."

He looked at her as if she'd just escaped the loony bin.

"Who are you, and what have you done to Cuddy?" he said, looking everywhere around him in perfect dramatic fashion.

"House, you and I…" she hesitated, searching for her words, "we already did it once. It doesn't have to mean anything. It's just… sexual release. You need it, I need it. So why not?"

"You're high, right?" he asked, shaking his head in complete, utter disbelief. "Did you smoke weed with that guy while he was here?"

"House, I'm perfectly fine. It's just sexual release," she repeated, pushing herself off the wall and taking a step toward him. "We just… need to get this out of our systems."

"_This_?"

She waved her hand back and forth in the space between them.

"This," she confirmed.

"There's nothing here," he tried to deny, still hardly processing what was happening.

"House, cut the crap yourself! You showed up earlier not because you wanted to discuss your patient with me. You showed up here because you couldn't stand the idea of me spending the night with a man. It drives you crazy, just thinking about it. That's why you feel the irrepressible need to screw with me."

"Screw with you, yeah. Not screw you," he puffed, rolling his eyes.

"We're friends, House," she finally said, with a soft but serious tone, and he could see in her gaze that she meant it. "Friends do that for each other."

Did they? Well, surely, some parts of him, at least one inside his pants that he was very well aware of at that moment, wanted that. But it was so very wrong in every possible way. Already now. And he really didn't want to find out how even worse it would undeniably end up being if he yielded to his basic male instincts, even though he could almost distinctively hear that specific hormonally driven voice scream inside his brain to take what there was to take and just shut up.

"Ask BOB," he however told her, inwardly praying she'd let him go as he wasn't sure he would be able to resist much longer.

"Bob?" she repeated, incredulous.

"Your Battery-Operated Boyfriend. I'm sure it's a very devoted one."

"I don't have any-" she started to deny.

"Tssk, tssk, Cuddy. You forgot I searched your home when that Latino slave of yours fell off your roof last fall," he reminded her and then gave her a knowing wink.

An adorable flush colored her cheeks and Cuddy looked down for a second to hide her embarrassment. But she promptly put herself together and tilted her face up again, looking him right in the eyes.

"Whatever!" she dismissed, her voice low but unapologetic. "One night, House. Then we forget it ever happened."

God, what an annoyingly sexy, little determined thing she was! He stared at her, mouth agape, for a long, long time. Then it hit him. Forcing a laugh, he said: "All right, ok, you got me. Where'd you put the mikes? The cameras?"

"What are you talking about?"

"This," he said angrily, mimicking her earlier gesture and waving his hand between them, "is a huuuuge mistake! You know it and I know it. Which is why I _know_ this, is just you, trying to trick me into saying stupid things that you'll use against me later. I assume it's, somehow, your twisted idea of a payback and I get it. I messed with you, you're messing with me. Let's all have a good laugh before you and I both return to whatever plans we had for tonight-"

She sent him a glare and it instantly silenced him.

"Ha-ha, very funny, House," she said, not laughing at all.

Realizing he didn't especially phrase what he wanted to say in the best way there was, he shrugged and glared back at her, just out of principle. "I mean, yeah, ok, I may have a few more openings than you do… Although, if it can make you feel better, I had to send nurse Bambi home when you called, so technically, I'm as frustrated as you are right now."

"_Nurse_ Bambi," Cuddy huffed, smirking.

"She's not a real nurse," House clarified half-serious, half-teasing.

"Really?" she scoffed. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Anyway, you got what you wanted: I sabotaged your romantic evening with Dick, you ruined mine with Bambi. It's a tie."

"House, you're already here…" she started.

Yeah. He was. He was right here, standing in front of her, and hell, that black V-cut cashmere sweater she was wearing, with nothing underneath – as her very taunting, very conspicuously erect nipples were giving evidence – was slowly, but irremediably, driving him crazy. Not to mention that he was dangerously running out of excuses.

"Listen," he said, with more sincerity than he'd wished to display, "we provoke each other, we drive each other mad, we even tease each other in _that_ way sometimes, but that's all there is because we both know that if it got any further, we'd be cutting our throats open with our teeth within a week!"

"You thought about this," she said, smiling mischievously at him and coming closer.

"Jesus, fuck, Cuddy! Are you listening to anything I'm saying?"

"Yes," she whispered, with a throaty voice that instantly and painfully got him semi-hard, just at the sound of it. She grabbed one of his hands that was dangling along his thighs and stroked it with the pad of her thumb. He stared down, unable to move, unable to remove his hand from her gentle grasp. "I heard you. You said that we could cut our throat open with our teeth. How do you think it'd feel, House, my teeth biting at your throat?"

He closed his eyes and took a deep, deep breath. He already knew how it felt, goddammit! Her teeth in his neck, nipping. Her nails in his flesh, scratching. Her breath in his ears, panting… And that's why it was becoming nearly impossible – no, just plain impossible – to resist her one more second. He opened his eyes and stared at her, intensely, as if he wanted to drill a hole into her skull with the power of his gaze only.

"One night?" he said. "Then we forget about it?"

"One night," she confirmed. "Then we go back to our lives, me telling you what you cannot do, you doing it anyway…"

She smiled and there was genuine amusement in her smile; amusement, and something else, too. Tenderness?

"So now what?" he asked her, getting straight to the point. "Are we supposed to do it… here? On…" he looked around and pointed at the dining room with his chin, "the table?" he offered, half-convinced.

She chuckled. "No, idiot… Although, hmm, tables are… never mind," she said, shaking her head. "we can go to my bedroom."

She came even closer to him, invading his personal space, literally occupying every inch of it with her slim, yet curvy feminine body. Her hips were touching his upper thighs and her chest was almost pressed against his broad, masculine torso. She tilted her head up and looked him in the eyes, absolutely silent, her gaze conveying her intense yearning better than any words would have. He stood there, perfectly immobile, staring down at her face, his mouth slightly open, and he blinked rapidly a few times, forcing himself to keep his focus. She lifted her hands to his shoulders and slid them under the hem of his leather jacket.

"Why don't you take this off first," she whispered, pulling on the heavy, worn material and sliding it past his shoulders and along his arms, following the path of the sleeves with her slender hands all the way down his wrists, stroking his biceps and forearms.

The jacket fell on the tile floor with an odd thud and, as Cuddy started to bend down to pick it up, House promptly seized her by the arm and forced her to stand up again, repositioning her just where she was merely seconds before, right there, in front of him, her body alongside his body, radiating a warmth he was already getting very much addicted to. She silently questioned him with a longing gaze, and when her eyes, hooded with something that unmistakably resembled desire, met his, he felt another rush of blood pulse in his growing erection.

"It's not too late to change your mind," he told her, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Bedroom. Now," she answered, and there was not a hint of hesitation in her command.

She took his hand inside hers and he let her guide him to her bedroom, limping by her side. The place was bathed in a strange, dark orange halo, the only source of light coming from two lamps, one on a nightstand, the other one on the chest of drawers opposite the foot of her bed. Red, silky scarves had been thrown atop the lampshades and he tried to chase the disturbing thought that this deliberately warm and sensual atmosphere had been probably arranged for man other than him. She kicked off her black heels and took a step in his direction. Now standing barefoot, the top of her head was just slightly above his collarbone and she suddenly looked so small and fragile in front of him, it made his heart swell with an familiar, yet long lost feeling. He so wanted to take her in his arms, it almost hurt.

"Wow, Dick doesn't know what he's missing!" he joked, to hide his discomfort.

"His name is _Don_," she corrected for the umpteenth time, sighing in annoyance at the ill-timed mention of the guy, as his name really was the last thing she had in mind at the moment.

"You realize this is kinda awkward, right?" House said, peering intensely at her.

She scowled and tentatively came closer. He noticed the hip sway, barely accentuated, but just deliberate enough to be arousing and damn, aroused, he definitely was. The throbbing pressure of his hard shaft against the front of his jeans was becoming a torturing ache.

"No second thoughts, Cuddy? I'm a guy, you know. Once this gets started, I won't really be able to take 'no' for an answer," he warned, in a somewhat touching way.

She smiled seductively at him and reached out her hand to place it tentatively on his chest.

"No second thoughts," she assured. "But God, House, just stop talking, and let's get on with it!"

Saying this, she closed the last bit of space that was still keeping them apart. She rose on her tiptoes and stretched her neck to claim his mouth. House stood petrified at first, but when her lips touched his, biting and sucking voraciously, when she thrust her tongue into his mouth, he instantly knew he was already way beyond the point of no return. He kissed her back, just as greedily as she was kissing him and cupped her face inside his hands. Cuddy moaned through his lips and it sent a shiver down his spine. Hurriedly, impatiently, almost clumsily, she grabbed his shirt and clasped the fabric, struggling to undo the buttons with one hand, while her other hand groped around and found the zipper of his jeans, tugging, pulling, and almost ripping it open.

"What are you doing?" he said, panting against her lower lip, forcing himself to resist the urge of kissing her again.

"I'm undressing you."

"No, you're not," he declared, grabbing her hands and pushing them aside gently, but firmly.

"What?" she blurted out, suddenly freezing.

"I don't know how you usually treat the guys you're having sex with, but that's not the way it's gonna happen now."

She took a step back and looked at him with a slightly panicked expression.

"I, err… I'm sorry. You're right, I don't think this is a good idea after all," she said, looking mortified and desperately trying to hide it.

He smiled, somehow reassuringly, and took a step in her direction, again closing the distance between them.

"Actually, I don't think there's anything wrong with that idea," he said with a hint of tease in his voice. "What's definitely wrong, however, is the execution…"

"What do you mean?" she blew, hesitantly.

"You're rushing things, Cuddy."

"Well, excuse me while I thought we needed to be naked to have sex!" she snapped, somewhat angrily.

"And naked, we will be," he told her coaxingly, still smiling. "But not like that. You made it perfectly clear that you want this to be a one-time thing, but I have every intention of making the best of it, for as long as it's gonna last. And, trust me Cuddy, this," he gestured between them with his hand, "is not going to be a quick fuck. You may think that it's what you want, but I'm not going to give you that."

"Why?" she challenged.

"Because you know you and I can do much better than that…"

She studied his face for a while, biting her lower lip sheepishly and looking uncomfortable – or was it flustered? - and then shook her head.

"Like I said, this is a bad idea, this-"

He put his hand on her hip and pulled her into his embrace. His gesture took her off guard and she stopped mid-sentence, mouth agape. The next second, he was already nuzzling her neck, brushing his nose against the soft hollow of her pulse point.

"Shh," he cooed, his voice hoarse with desire, "you called _me_, Cuddy. There's a reason why you did, and you know it."

He kissed her then, softly, his lips merely touching her skin and it drove her crazy. She lost track of her thoughts, and suddenly her brain was completely incapable of seeing any rational reason why she should have prevented this huge mistake from happening.

"House," she whispered, stretching her neck higher to give him better access.

He trailed kisses along the line of her jaw, his warm lips burning her skin with desire.

"Besides," he murmured in her ear, "while I'm sure you don't exactly live like a nun, you don't have that much sex either. I would know it if you did."

She tried to straighten up in his arms to protest, but he was keeping her close to him and his kisses in her neck, the touch of his sweet lips on her, the rough sensation of his stubble, scraping her skin… eventually, she just forgot why she should protest at all.

"We need to get you ready," he whispered again, his lips brushing her earlobe. "I remember how tight you are and I'm sure you remember how it felt the first time…"

She felt the familiar twinge of desire between her legs, and her knees went weak beneath her. She almost lost her balance and seized his broad shoulders with her hands, clinging to him to prevent her from falling.

"House," she said again, and this time it sounded like a whimper, almost a plea.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and his hands found her skirt's zipper at the small of her back. Deftly, he slowly slid it open and the skirt fell along her toned legs to the floor.

"Lie down," he instructed, guiding her half-naked body toward the edge of the bed.

She resisted at first, looking more puzzled than unwilling, but then she sat down on the mattress and lay down on her back, her feet dangling along the bedspring.

"Higher," he said.

She wiggled to position her entire body on the mattress, head on the pillow, while he took his sneakers and socks off. As he straightened up, he saw she was lifting the hem of her sweater and he stopped her, just as the black cashmere fabric was uncovering her midriff.

"No. Keep it on."

She frowned, a mix of disapproval and frustration, but she complied and dropped the hem of the sweater, letting it fall down on her taut belly. She lay back again and she watched him take his shirt off, that he threw offhandedly on the floor behind him, then his jeans.

An undeniable feeling of oddness was filling the air, as she watched him limp to the foot of the bed and stand there, looking down at her with an undecipherable smile. He was half-naked, wearing only his boxers and the bulge inside them left no doubt about the way his body was unmistakably ready to give her the kind of release she was craving. She sucked her bottom lip inside her mouth and took a deep breath, feeling the warm proof of her own arousal pool between her legs and soak her panties.

House registered the change of rhythm in Cuddy's breathing and he leaned down, putting one knee on the mattress for leverage as he bent lower and shifted his body weight forward, resting his palms flat on each side of her hips. He slowly flexed his arms, his face descending upon her lower abdomen and she couldn't help but wiggle a little to glide her pelvis higher and away from him. Resting his elbows on the mattress, he curled his fingers around her curvy hips with his now free hands, his thumbs pressing on her hipbones to make her stop fidgeting. Her belly was rising up and down rapidly and he could hear her heavy breaths above him. He hooked the waistband of her panties with his fingers and tugged them past her round, perfect ass and lower down her thighs. As soon as she felt her sex bare and exposed, so close to him, she wiggled again, and pressed her thighs together, feeling a little self-conscious. He smiled at her adorable and unexpected shyness and bent a little lower, tantalizingly, almost touching her with his chin. He was so used to seeing her rule the world of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, with her long strides, her bossy voice, her confident commands, he'd forgotten how much of an act it all must have been, seeing that she was just human, most of the time alone when it came to make big decisions that could impact the lives of hundreds of people. It touched him, kind of out of the blue and, for no reason other than that he quit being an asshole to her just for once, it made him want to be selfless and giving. For her. He gently pressed on her thighs to spread them open a little, enough for him to position his knees between her calves. She didn't resist but he could feel she was somehow struggling with herself to let go. When he leaned down and brushed his lips against her groin, her hips instantaneously bucked up and he saw her grip the sheets and clench her fists around the white linen cloth.

"House, no…" she protested unconvincingly, short of breath. "We're not… supposed to… we…"

"You wanna get off or you don't?" he reminded her teasingly.

His ran the tip of his index finger along her slit, barely brushing her silky skin with a feather light stroke.

"I do," she gasped, and a languorous moan escaped her lips. "Yes."

"Good," he said, with a raspy groan. "Then trust me, I'm gonna give you exactly what you want."

He heard her moan again, an incoherent response that sounded like a complaint, and he smiled along her inner thigh.

"Do you trust me?"

There was a beat, during which he could hear the sound of her heavy breaths echo in the room.

"Do you?" he pressed.

"Yes," she puffed.

He couldn't say if it was the sound of her voice, unquestionably giving him her consent, that reassured her, but she finally relaxed under his touch as she unclenched her fists, and spread her legs slightly wider. Now that her body language had given him silent access, he slowly pushed the length of his middle finger into her heated core and her inner walls instantly clamped around it tightly.

"My God, Cuddy, how long since the last time you had sex?" he exclaimed.

She propped herself up on her elbows and stared down at him disapprovingly.

"That's none of your business!" she groaned.

"How long?" he insisted.

"A... few… weeks" she panted.

He started to pull his finger out of her and she squirmed in frustration.

"All right! A few months," she confessed, covering her face with her hands. "Why d'you think I called you!" she said, upset.

"I feel so used!" he fake-whined.

She smacked him on the shoulder and he pushed his finger back inside her, leisurely pumping in and out of her. After a few strokes, he carefully added another digit and she literally collapsed backward, her head buried deep into the pillow. With two fingers inside her wet heat, House nuzzled her pubic bone and rubbed his nose through the light patch of hair, just above her folds. The contact of his face against the most intimate part of her body, and the sudden, absolute awareness of him _there_, almost made her instantly combust with an overwhelming combination of desire, lust, and need. She jerked her hips up and, in response, he swiftly pinned her back down with a firm push of his face against her sex. He parted her with his tongue and sucked her clit through his lips, licking and barely nibbling to elicit that blissful sensation of pleasure, exclusively focused on making it irrepressibly build up deep within her only. He was right there with her, feeling her every move against his mouth, experiencing her every spasm with his fingers and when he could feel she was about to climax, he picked up his rhythm and kept sucking, licking and nibbling her clit faster, while his fingers kept stretching her core deeper. He heard her gasp, pant, moan, and beg for more until, suddenly, driven by a totally uncontrollable reflex, Cuddy cupped the back of his skull with her hands, and grabbed a full strand of hair, tugging upward ruthlessly as if she needed the overwhelming sensation that pervaded her to stop instantly, but then pressing down to urge him to keep going, as if she wished the elation would never end. House propped himself up on his elbows and gently shook his head to free himself from her grasp. He pulled his fingers out of her and amidst her rapid, agitated puffs, she protested against the feeling of sudden emptiness with a groan as House rolled over her leg on his side to give her body all the space it needed to absorb pleasure.

Cuddy curled her fingers around her sex and squeezed her legs shut, imprisoning her hand against her heat, as the forceful wave of orgasm rippled through her body, shaking her with trembling jolts of ecstasy. She kept on wriggling onto the mattress, her hips bucking up, the small of her back leaving the mattress, and arching her spine in a sensual curve. House straightened up, his eyes never leaving the image of her next to him, and he swiftly got rid of his boxers. Now entirely naked, he lay on top of her and aligned his body with hers, face to face.

Shifting to the side and resting his body weight on one hip, he gripped the hand she was squeezing between her legs and mightily forced her to remove it from her pelvis. She fought his grasp at first, her need to prolong her bliss selfishly turned inward but eventually, she let him guide it away from her inner thigh. He repositioned himself on top of her, propping himself up on his forearms, and looked down at her, mesmerized by her feline, voluptuous beauty. Her eyes were closed, her head tipped backward against the pillow, and she was riding the last quaking spasms of her orgasm. He bent down and softly kissed her on her temple and she jerked her head up, ending face to face with him. Her eyes opened wider, as if she'd only then become aware of his presence, hovering over her.

He slid one hand underneath her sweater, and caressed her midriff, applying the gentlest of strokes on her skin until he reached one of her breasts and cradled it inside his large palm. With his other hand, he found her core again and parted her folds, pressing his thumb against her swollen nub. She was so wet and warm. He looked her right in the eyes and began rubbing it again, feeling her flesh pulsate against his finger.

"Don't… do… that," she begged, and it was impossible to know if she was talking about his finger against her clit, or his gaze piercing intensely into her eyes, almost reaching to her soul.

She turned her head to the side and closed her eyes and he nuzzled her neck, resuming his relentless, pleasuring caresses until another orgasm, more abrupt than the previous one, came crashing into her, and she came again, violently, her nerve endings extremely sensitive and responsive after her first high. She griped his wrist with both her hands and anchored herself to him, forcing his hand to stop moving and trying to catch her breath.

After a while, she opened her eyes and when she met his gaze, scrutinizing her, she gasped, visibly uneasy, and squirmed beneath him.

"Don't look at me like that!" she said, blushing.

"Not exactly the best moment to act all shy, Cuddy," he admonished her with a smile.

She closed her eyes again and her light blush turned crimson red.

"Look at me," he demanded, his raspy tone heavy with longing.

She froze at the sound of his voice, and because of the sudden quietness of their bodies, she became aware of his nakedness against her, as she felt his hard member pressed against her hipbone, skin to skin. She lifted her eyelids and locked eyes with him.

"I'm here because you wanted me here," he reminded her, unruffled and non-judgmental. "The deal didn't specify anything about not making eye contact."

She thrashed underneath him and forcefully pressed her palms on his chest to push him off her as she glowered at him with a slight trace of hurt in her eyes.

"Don't talk to me like I'm one of your hookers!" she hissed through clenched teeth.

"Don't be an idiot, Cuddy. None of what's happening here is even remotely related to a hooker's deal," he told her evenly, because it was simply the truth.

He watched her fume in contained anger, as she was trying to keep her poise and another pang of desire hit him deep inside his chest. He wanted her to realize that the way _she_ was making him feel, and above all, the way with which, in turn, _he_ wanted to make _her_ feel, was way beyond anything that usually defined the nature of his soulless encounters with hookers. He would have never looked at any of them the way he felt the need to look at her right in that moment. He would have never bothered to take care of their needs, before his own, purely selfish ones. And, most of all, he would certainly never have taken such attentive care and devotion to make sure they were rightfully fulfilled. He leaned down to her face and kissed her chin softly. She turned her head to the side and he kissed her cheekbone, then the line of her jaw, and then her earlobe. She turned her head upward again to face him and planted her gaze in his, intensely staring into his big blue eyes. He stared back and they didn't move for what seemed like an eternity.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, and again, he said it, almost without thinking, because that was just the truth.

He heard her suck in a sharp breath and something he couldn't decipher passed behind her eyes.

"You cannot say that…" she said, with a hint of regret in her voice.

"Why? It's true."

"It's just… not…"

"Cuddy, don't think. Don't analyze," he told her, but it felt to him as if he was speaking to himself. "Just take what you need to take. Take it from me. Just this one time. I understand. It's ok. Just let it go. It's ok," he reassured her with a raspy voice.

He could almost feel the palpable tension radiate from her and picture the inner struggle against her mixed, antagonistic emotions that was racking her brain. He saw her blink rapidly a few times and his first instinct was to bend down to kiss her eyelids. He didn't want to give her more time to over think, didn't want to be a witness of what he feared would happen if guilt and shame started to invade her. So he kissed her eyelids. Softly. Then he kissed the tip of her nose, then her cheek, her forehead, and her nose again. And when he finally allowed himself to claim her mouth, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her slender hands sliding at the base of his nape, while her fingers combed through his hair and relief pervaded him. She parted her lips and gave him access to her tongue, and he took it, and twirled it around his, slowly at first, then more greedily until they both felt the need to break away to gasp for air.

He took advantage of this fleeting moment to reach for the hem of her sweater and pulled it hastily past her head, before throwing it away on the floor. Just knowing that she was finally, entirely naked beneath him squeezed a groan of boiling impatience inside his throat. He lifted himself up above her and tilted his face down to admire her body, drink her in and relish the sight of her breasts, rising up as she was inhaling heavily and falling down with each exhale. She wrapped one of her legs around his thigh, the heel of her foot pressing against the back of his knee and she grinded her hips against his erection until he thought he might overdose on lust. He caressed her everywhere, roaming her skin with his large hands and she scratched his back from his shoulder blades down to his butt cheeks, pulling him down forcefully, telling him without words that her body was craving the ultimate connection. In spite of all the desire that he felt was ready to burst out of him, he still found enough strength in him to force himself to stop moving and resist her call.

"Condom," he panted in her ear.

"What?"

"Do you have a condom?" he repeated.

She looked up at him and her mouth opened to say something but she averted her gaze instead. He rolled his eyes and puffed.

"It's ok," he said in his most reassuring tone, at the same time irrepressibly starting to freak out a little at the possibility that she might say no. "I think it's pretty obvious from the look of things that you had everything perfectly planned for your hot date with Eastern Lube guy, so please, Cuddy, don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about and tell me you have condoms somewhere in your house. Preferably in this room. Pretty, pretty pleaaaaase."

She grinned mischievously at him and bit her lower lip.

"In the nightstand's drawer. The one on the left," she finally said, her smile growing bigger when he sighed heavily, not even bothering to hide his relief.

"Thank God, I knew your control freak tendencies could come in handy one day!" he exclaimed, leaning to his left and retrieving one precious foil packet from the drawer.

He ripped it open with his teeth and pulled the rubber out of it, before sitting down, struggling to find enough a comfortable position to put it in place. She sat up too and kneeled in front of him.

"Gimme," she said, holding out her hand.

"I've got this," he answered with his head down.

She shoved her palm under his face, conspicuously blocking the view and repeated: "Give it to me. I wanna do it."

He froze and slowly lifted his face to her. He caught sight of her glowing eyes as she was smiling one of her devastating smiles and it completely hypnotized him. He docilely handed her the condom and she came closer to him, touching his knees with her knees.

She took his erection in one hand and he inhaled a sharp intake of breath, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his jaw tight. When he opened his eyes again, the thin ring of latex was wrapped around the head of his shaft and she rolled it down its length slowly, deliberately stroking and applying pressure with her fingers.

"I remember how big you are," she whispered unashamed, looking at her hand wrapped around his hard cock. Then she lifted her face and looked him right in the eyes. "I remember how it felt inside me."

She pressed at the base of his erection ever so slightly and relaxed her grip, before pressing again just a little higher.

"Cuddy," he groaned. "I'm two orgasms behind, here. So if you keep doing this, I can't be held responsible for whatever might result of it."

"I have every faith in your ability to hold back long enough to get me off again," she coaxed, smiling.

He took a deep, quivering breath and narrowed his eyes at her. She leaned forward slightly and stopped right in front of his face, her lips merely an inch away from his lips.

"I _know_ you can be really self-controlled when you want to," she blew with a whisper against the pulp of his lower lip.

His eyes widened and he stared at her with a mix of pure wonderment and feral desire. She opened her mouth slightly and stuck out the tip of her tongue to lick her bottom lip and, right there and then, it overpowered him. He seized her by the shoulders, enveloping the round shape of her upper arms in his large hands and he pushed her backward, making her topple underneath him. They struggled briefly to disentangle their lower limbs, and find the right position for their bodies to connect and he pressed his hips against her abdomen, pushing her legs open with his knee. She spread her thighs and he reached for his cock to guide it at the wet, silky entry of her core.

Propped down on his forearms, he pressed his elbows on each side of her arms and cupped her face with his hands. He planted his deep blue gaze into hers and he lowered his hips down, sliding the head of his shaft between her folds before pushing the first inch of his length inside her. Cuddy gasped and her mouth stayed open as she stared up at him with her eyes wide.

"Does that hurt?" he asked with concern, and he instantly started to pull out carefully.

She grabbed his butt cheeks and squeezed them tight as she pressed down with all her might.

"Dammit House!" she groaned. "I'm not a virgin anymore. Just… don't… you… dare… stop," she panted, as he started to slide inside her again.

Within every inch that he pushed, excruciatingly slowly inside her, oh so tight, warm heat, House thought he might come like a horny, inexperienced teenager. When he reached the hilt and felt her inner walls almost sheathe his entire length, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, inwardly praying to not lack any of that self-control of his she'd dared him to show her. He hadn't even started to move and she'd already almost killed him with that incomparable, unique feel of _her_ around him.

"You feel so good."

He tensed up, taken aback by the sound of his voice when he realized he'd just said that out loud.

"House, please, you need to move…" she said, her voice a hoarse prayer. "I'm dying here."

"Gimme a minute," he growled, clenching his jaw.

"House," she repeated beseechingly, and she arched the small of her back, deliberately pressing her hips down on the mattress and pulling herself out of him a little.

She was calling for a reaction on his part and he instantly gave it to her by grabbing her ass with both hands and pinning her down, as he thrust back deep into her. He maintained his grip firm on her ass and rested his forehead on hers while she dug her nails into his shoulders and clutched hard. When he was sure she'd accommodated to his size, when he could _feel_ it, he slowly pulled half his length out, then slowly slid back inside, hitting that spot deep inside of her, again. Then he slid out of her once more, almost completely, and did it again, burying himself inside her. Slowly.

"Oh God, yes!" she moaned. "Again. Just like that…"

And he complied. Again. And again. After a few careful, languorous penetrations, he allowed himself to seek after his own pleasure and he picked up the pace of his hip sways, pulling out faster, and pushing in harder. Faster with every withdrawing heave back, harder with every slamming thrust forth. He watched her attentively, almost reverently, heedful to take every one of her reaction in, instantly adjusting to its meaning, and giving her exactly what her body was claiming from his. He brought her just right there, near the edge, almost hurtling her over, and then, without a warning, he stopped. He lifted himself up on his palms and stared down at her. She was panting, her jaw slack, and her head arched back into the pillow, and when she glared silently at him for abruptly depriving her of deliverance he smiled roguishly and resumed his rocking, back and forth movements, starting all over again, with intoxicatingly slow thrusts, before changing the rhythm and shoving into her faster.

_Self-control_, she'd challenged him.

In all the years he'd spent alone, barely getting the biological release his body needed with a few flavorless call girls a month, he'd learned every way there was to tame his sexual hungering, even silence it when he had to. Music, drugs, alcohol, medical puzzles, he knew all kinds of tricks to occupy his mind, detour his focus, and forget about his cravings… But now, against all odds, as he was holding the exact object of that craving in his arms, he understood there was no need to hold back. That he could allow himself, just that one time, to let go. She'd called _him_ so he would give her what she needed. And he was, then, doing exactly that. But, he could take it from her, too. He could take what she, and only she, could give him. She didn't have to know, and he didn't have to tell her. He just needed to pretend it didn't matter, that he was just there for her, and that what they were doing, and doing amazingly well, didn't mean anything…

He slid one strong, muscled arm under her shoulder blades and lifted her off the mattress lightly, just enough to press her chest closer to him and buried his face in her neck, to smell the scent of her arousal, let the sound of her moans vibrate against his ears and feel the warmth of her panting breaths against his skin. Cuddy wrapped her slender arms around his waist and joined her hands at the small of his back, clinging to him, as she let him carry her there. He kept rocking his hips on and on and on, until the orgasmic fever took hold of them both. The familiar sensation spread all over him, at the same time that he felt her starting to tremble beneath him. Then her moans became louder and soon turned into cries and she tightened her grasp on his back so he shoved harder, with every remnant of energy he still had within him, to stay with her, be there with her, and prolong their blissful connection a little longer.

"House, oh God, I… love you…" - "Cuddy, fuck, I… love… you."

He collapsed on top of her and froze, paralyzed, as he felt her tense in his arms. They'd said it in unison, at the exact same time, while they were both too overwhelmed to hold it back and think about consequences. But now it was out there and, while silence was filling the room, it seemed like they could still hear _the words_ echo against the walls.

House had nuzzled her neck and Cuddy's face was buried in the hollow of his collarbone, but eventually, as the waves of their orgasms slowly subsided, they had to release their tight grip and break away from their embrace. House pulled out of her carefully and rolled to the side, lying next to her on his back. He got rid of the used condom and they both stared at the ceiling in silence for a long time.

"What was that?" Cuddy finally asked, her breath still heavy with lust, and her question could have referred to anything, or just to _that _thing, but House would have rather avoided talking about the latter.

"I think they call it an orgasm," he said, in his trademark, smartass fashion.

She flung her arm in the air and smacked him loosely on the stomach with the back of her hand. He turned his head to the side and glanced at her. He only caught a glimpse of her profile but he saw the sated smile that was drawn on her lips. She turned her head to the side too and when their eyes met, her smile slightly faded and she bit her lips, before averting her eyes. Wiggling a little, she grabbed the hemline of the bedspread, and pulled on it, swiftly sliding underneath to cover her nudity. Though he was not particularly feeling ashamed of his own nakedness, House could sense they'd reached _that_ peculiar moment, as a fleeting feeling of awkwardness started floating in the air so he grabbed a pillow and covered his groin with it. He sat up straight and crossed his legs at the ankles, looking straight in front of him. Cuddy sighed and he bit his tongue inside his mouth, inhaling a deep breath through his nostrils.

"If we were at my place, I'm pretty sure I would have one helluva glass of Jim Beam right now," he said, trying to sound casual. "And a cigar maybe…"

"You don't even smoke."

"On special occasions, I do," he answered, without thinking.

The awkwardness noticeably rose up a notch and he could feel her body squirm next to his. He clutched the corner of the pillow and dug his fingernails into the fluffy material.

"I don't have any Bourbon," she suddenly said after a while, "but I can make us some tea."

She got up before he could even move a muscle. Tugging at the bedspread to slide it away from the bed, she swiftly wrapped it around her, hiding her luscious curves under an artistically offhand hang. He watched her as she tiptoed toward the door with undeniable grace, but it still felt to him like she was beating a hasty retreat so, just as she seized the doorknob, he called after her.

"Jesus Christ, Cuddy, I don't want any goddamn tea!" he shouted, somewhat angrily.

She froze, her back to him, and stood immobile in front of the door. Then she removed her hand from the handle and turned around.

"Come here," he said gently, patting the sheet beside him.

She hesitated, wriggled a little, but didn't move.

"Cuddyyyyy!" he whined theatrically. "Come on."

She finally came closer, but instead of lying back next to him as he wanted her to, she stood at the bedside a few inches away from the edge of the mattress. She bit her lips nervously and tightened the bedspread around her chest.

"House, about what…."

"Don't ruin it," he cut her off.

"But that… _thing_ we said," she insisted.

"You mean that thing _you_ said," he tried to joke.

She sent him a warning glare and he shrugged, helpless. He looked down at his hands crossed atop the pillow that rested on his lower abdomen.

"You said we needed to get this out of our systems," he told her with a low voice.

He looked up to meet her gaze and forced a smile but it came out as an odd, clumsy grimace.

"Don't be an ass, House," she warned. "Not now."

He sighed and looked down again.

"Listen, that… thing _we_ said," he finally admitted, avoiding her gaze, "it… well, you know, just like I know… it didn't mean anything."

"Is that what you think?" she asked her voice just a little higher than necessary.

He looked up and locked eyes with her.

"Yeah," he answered, with a slight edge of sadness in his voice.

She stared intensely at him and nodded imperceptibly.

"Yeah," she repeated with the same low-spirited tone. "It didn't mean anything."

"Absolutely. Of course!" he exclaimed extravagantly. "That was just a pure 'heat of the moment' thing."

"Heat of the moment," she echoed.

"There's no need to freak out," he continued, his voice getting steadier.

"None!" she stated firmly.

A heavy silence fell in the room and they both sighed in perfectly faked relief.

Cuddy took a small step closer to the bed and sat down next to him.

"Do you want me to go?" he asked after another while.

"Do you want to go?" she said, unable to hide her slight disappointment.

"Not if want me to stay."

"Do you want to stay?"

"Geez, Cuddy!" he exclaimed, rolling his eyes.

"I don't mind if you stay a little longer," she finally confessed tentatively.

"Ok," he said with a smile.

He grabbed her by the wrist and gently pulled her down into his arms. She didn't resist and let him guide her alongside him, instantly crawling back into his embrace, almost instinctively. She buried her nose in his chest and he wrapped one arm around her shoulders, tracing the outlines of her skull with the palm of his other hand, without touching her, just caressing the air just above her dark curls.

"What happened tonight was just a one-time thing," she suddenly reminded him, straightening up to scrutinize his face.

He pressed his chin onto his chest to look at her and smiled.

"House, I'm serious. We can't talk about this to anyone," she summoned. "Not even to Wilson."

He stared at her with a "duh" face.

"Promise me," she demanded solemnly.

"Not even to tell him about that amazing thing I did that got you all wild and panting?" he teased, waggling his eyebrows playfully.

She glowered at him, but she couldn't hide her smile.

"Don't worry Cuddy," he reassured her, serious again. "My lips are sealed."

"Thank you," she said meaningfully.

"Don't mention it." He briefly averted his gaze to hide the brimming flow of disconcerting emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

She propped herself on one elbow, her cheek cupped in one of her hands, and looked up at him with a serene gaze.

"And everything will go back to normal tomorrow. As if nothing ever happened," she recited, after a beat.

"Yeah, ok," he replied a bit edgily. "No need to spell it out for me. I got it. And I told you it was fine. That was just a one-time thing. I'm a big boy, I think I can survive…"

She looked behind her at the digital clock on the nightstand.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," he grumbled, pushing her away from him and sitting up. "I better go."

He glided toward the edge of the bed, with his back to her, and struggled to stand because of his bad leg. She caught him by the wrist before he had time to get up. He slowly turned around and frowned, staring at her quizzically.

"It's not even midnight yet," she purred with a flirtatious voice.

His eyes widened and he gaped at her in astonishment.

"Little demanding thing, are we?" he said, a grin irrepressibly drawing on his lips.

"I told you, House. I like sex," she stated, beautifully unashamed.

He rolled his eyes and puffed. "Oh really? I haven't noticed…"

"Well then, I think you need to focus better." She slid on the mattress to come closer to him and the bedspread that was wrapped around her conveniently dropped loose, uncovering one of her breasts. He peered, mesmerized, at the perfect ivory curve and thought he hadn't even had time to pay all the attention he wanted to pay to her breasts. Suddenly, an irrepressible need to lavish them with his tongue, graze her nipples with his teeth and suck them into his mouth invaded his body. He slowly leaned down, hovering over her gorgeous body and devouring it with a ravenous gaze.

Maybe that was just how things were meant to be between them. But he didn't care. After one taste of her, he already knew he'd want more of her. And he _knew_ that even if she gave it to him, he'd still want even more of her, again. Always. Because he would never have enough of her. The night they'd shared together years ago had haunted his mind on countless sleepless nights and sometimes, just the memory of her, that night, had been the only thing that had kept him sane. But it was a long time ago and, as he leaned down into her welcoming arms and started kissing her lips, he thought that, even if tonight had to be just another one night, he would cherish it just as he had cherished the memory of the previous one and, whenever he'd feel alone, he'd close his eyes and see her, just like he was seeing her now, sensually beautiful, spell-biding and all his.

Just for one night.

** THE END **

* * *

**_A/N_**

_I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I know I said I'd post for IYLM, but that one was just taunting me, and wouldn't go away, so…. I had to let it out of my system! :D_

_I have a few other ideas of "first times" already (though, I sincerely can't say when I will find time to write them) but, meanwhile, I'd gladly take any suggestions that you could think of. So if you want me to develop a particular context, a pretext, or who you'd rather have as the instigator (or even if you've thought about a combination of all three) don't hesitate to share your own ideas in a comment!_

_Have a nice day ~ maya_

_PS: You remember how in "Half-Wit," the next episode, House visits Cuddy and tries to follow her in her bedroom and she says: "call the Make A Wish foundation"? That's my fictional explanation for it! As if, after that 'first time' happened, he'd have wanted it to happen again... :P_


	2. Heated Argument

_Hi everyone! _

_Here's the second part of the "First Times" series._

_As I said when I first posted this, each and every part will be unrelated to the previous or the next one. This being about "First Times," I take it for granted that at the beginning of each story, House and Cuddy (apart from that one-time in Michigan) have never had sex together before. I hope this choice won't disappoint you too much as I want the end of each story to close the curtain on House and Cuddy as they are, which means I won't explore any of those stories further… _

_This truly is about "first time" each time. Some of them, like the first one, will be, overall, kind of sweet and tender, some others, like this one, may appear more passionate and irrational… But I'll say no more and let you read to find out why!_

_I really hope you'll enjoy it!_

_This new story is set some time between "Let Them Eat Cake" and "Joy to The World" (season 5) – __**Opportunity**__: a fight about "THE desk". __**Motive:**__ anger. __**First move**__: House_

* * *

**** HEATED ARGUMENT ****

**First Times series #2**

Cuddy's heels were clicking on the floor as she walked to her office with her ever confident, decided stride. It was late in the evening and she would be going back home, as soon as she grabbed her coat and briefcase. The clinic was empty and patients, at this hour, were long gone. The nurses had deserted the central counter, some of them to take another shift in a different department, some others to head back home after their day at PPTH. The place was dimly lit and deserted so, as she turned around the corner towards her office's door, Cuddy was surprised to see lights coming from behind the closed blinds. As she got closer, she thought she heard voices and some weird rummaging noises coming from inside so she picked up her pace and pushed the door open decidedly. Upon entering, she gawked at the vision she came face to face with: two perfect strangers, heaving loudly, were standing opposite side of her desk, their hands clutched at the edge, the furniture lifted slightly above the ground and they were stumbling in the direction of the door, visibly moving it out. On the right corner of her office, she then spotted a very familiar figure: a tall, lean, muscular man that was offhandedly leaning on a cane. She stopped dead in her tracks at the threshold and put her hands on her hips.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" she exclaimed, stunned, looking at House first before laying eyes on the guys again.

"Erm, Dr. House says the desk doesn't fit here. So he called us to come and take it," one of the men explained, puffing heavily, while maneuvering to angle it toward the door.

Cuddy jerked her head to the side and shot House a deathly glare. In response, he put both his hands on his cane's handle and leaned slightly forward, an evil smile drawn on his lips. She sucked in a sharp breath and turned her attention back to the guys.

"Put. It. Down!" she commanded with a resolute tone.

The movers instantly froze and looked at each other, baffled, then glanced at House, then at Cuddy, then back at House with a quizzical gaze.

"Desk. Out!" House ordered, mimicking Cuddy's bossy tone and pointing successively at the furniture then at the door with the tip of his cane.

The two guys hesitated for a second and started moving again.

"That desk isn't going anywhere," Cuddy warned grimly.

The movers stopped again and shot House a desperate look, clearly expecting him to give them instructions. It literally made Cuddy's blood boil with rage.

"I'm the Dean of Medicine in this hospital," she announced with a definite tone. "And _this_ is my office." One of the guys arched his eyebrows in surprise taken aback by this piece of information which he visibly had no idea about. "I don't know what Dr. House told you, and I don't want to know, but the desk stays right where it is. And you, gentlemen, have thirty seconds to get out of _my_ office then out of _my _hospital before I call security and have you escorted outside," she added menacingly.

The two men looked at House with a sorry face and instantly dropped the desk back on the ground before beating a hasty retreat towards the exit door. Cuddy moved to the side, as they decamped with their heads hanging low. She waited long enough to be sure they were indeed out before shutting the door. Then she slowly turned around and saw House had walked from the right corner of the office to the space in front of her desk, on the edge of which he was seated, his legs crossed at the ankles. She stomped toward him, fuming, as he watched her approached with a totally 'not-impressed' look on his face. She stopped in front of him and glared.

"What the hell was that?" she hissed through clenched teeth.

He stared back at her, a bit provokingly, but didn't answer.

"I'm tired of those little games of yours, House. _When_ are you gonna stop acting like a ten year-old child?"

"I'm not the one who started this," he said matter-of-factly.

Her mouth dropped open, and she stared at him, astonished.

"What are you talking about?"

House pushed himself up off of the desk with his palms and closed the distance between them, taking a step toward her and standing dangerously close to her.

"You invaded _my _space," he said, hovering over her. "Prevented me from focusing on my patients, messed with my stuff."

She squared her shoulders but didn't back up.

"My office was _destroyed_!" she shouted.

"You dropped a stink bomb in mine!" he countered. "Now who's the ten year-old?"

"Ha! You smashed my toilet bowl!" she huffed, as if the mention of his retaliation solely could annihilate the absurdity of her escalation in the first place. "And now, this?" she gestured behind him at the desk with her hands. "This has to stop," she warned.

"Why do you even care if I take it back, anyway?" he asked angrily. "That piece of wood obviously doesn't matter to you."

"Whaaaat? Of course it matters. It's _my_ desk from med school."

"Yeah," he puffed. "Didn't seem to move you that much to have it back." His voice was dripping bitterness with every word.

"Why would you say that? It… I'm-" she faltered out, taken off guard by how upset he seemed to be about that.

"You're what, Cuddy? You're grateful? You're happy? I had it fucking shipped just for you and you didn't even mention it. Pretended like it didn't happen," he snapped.

Her eyes widened and she stared at him, at a complete loss of words.

"Is that what this is about?" she scoffed, recovering her poise after a few seconds. "Boo-hoo, poor House didn't get the attention he wanted-"

Something changed in House's gaze, and he looked down at her with a slightly hurt expression.

"You're such a bitch," he spat disdainfully.

"Maybe. But not more than that tattooed bimbo girl that was clinging to you in your office the other day," she shot back, tit for tat.

House's eyebrows flew up in bewilderment.

"Dee-Dee?" he said, not even hiding his surprise. "You saw her?"

"Yes. I saw her. And by the way, House, I'm warning you. I don't care what you do with your clique of bimbos outside of these walls, but you _do. not._ _bring_ hookers to my hospital."

"Hookers?" he exclaimed, stunned. "Is that what you think she is? Pffft! Dee-Dee's not a hooker. She's an actress-"

"Sure!" she sneered. "Is that what they call it nowadays?"

"She's a nice girl I met in a bar. She's having a rough time landing herself some good gigs. So I hired her to play a little trick to my team and teach them a lesson. That's all."

"Don't lie to me, House. I _saw_ you. She was practically wrapped around you, right in the middle of your office-"

"Wait," he said, as realization suddenly hit him. "How do you know _that_? What were you doing there?"

"I am the Dean of Medicine, remember?" she replied haughtily, her slightly shaky voice betraying her sudden unease however. "There're lots of things I need to deal with that require me to be out of my office."

House narrowed his eyes at her, and studied her face closely for a while.

"Now _you_ don't lie to me, Cuddy. This is bullshit!" he said, with that characteristic 'I just had an epiphany' look on his face. "You wouldn't have noticed Dee-Dee's presence unless you'd have _deliberately_ spotted her outside the walls of my office. Which means, you didn't come up there for no reason… Which means…. wait again… did you come to see _me_, because of the…desk?"

Cuddy took in a sharp breath and looked down briefly to hide her embarrassment. House saw it, and she saw him see it, which only gave her the urge to get away from him to avoid his scrutinizing stare, hoping it'd buy her some time to grab hold of herself .

"Never mind," she said, waving her hand dismissively in the air, as she started to walk past him.

But within the first step, he caught her firmly by the arm and halted her retreat. She glared down at his hands and he instantly released her. She shook herself off of him but didn't try to get away and stayed where she was, right in front of him, instead. She lifted her chin up, and stared at him with heated anger.

"Now look who's pissed because she didn't get all the attention she wanted! Boo-hoo," House mocked, mimicking her earlier snarky comeback.

"You're an ass."

"Yeah, big news!" he scoffed angrily. "Why do I get the feeling that it's exactly what turns you on?"

Cuddy's mouth dropped open in shock and she rolled her eyes theatrically.

"You're delusional, House," she stated with a voice she hoped sounded firm and unmoved.

House shook his head no, slowly, and took a step closer.

"What do you want from me?" he asked.

"Excuse me?"

"What kind of game are you playing, Cuddy? What do you want?"

She gulped and flush invaded her cheeks.

"Nothing,"

"I don't believe you. _Why_ did you come to my office that night? Tell me," he pressed, closing the distance between them again.

She sucked her lower lip into her mouth to prevent it from quivering and looked at him, forcing a look of smug indifference on her face. House's eyes narrowed to a thin line and he peered intensely at her, as if he was desperately trying to decipher what lay beyond those fevered, light-grey eyes of hers. Then he sucked in a sharp breath and, without a warning, suddenly palmed one of her breasts, just as he'd done in his empty office a few days before. Cuddy gaped and froze, shocked.

"Is that what you want?" he asked, his tone provoking.

"No. It isn't," she strongly asserted.

"You can lie to me all you want, Cuddy but your body can't. I can feel your hard nipple against my hand. You can't deny _that_. I know what you want and you clearly _want me_."

"No, _you_ want me, House. _You_, not me," she denied, her gaze daring.

To emphasize her point, she swiftly flung her hands toward his groin and cupped the front of his jeans unceremoniously.

"I can feel it," she declared, with absolute, inhibited poise.

Fuck. That bewitching bitch was such a turn-on! Every nerve ending in House's body ignited with alarmingly uncontrollable desire.

"Watch out, Cuddy," he warned. "That little game can become more dangerous than smashing toilets or dropping stink bombs…"

Cuddy saw his hooded eyes darken with the unmistakable shadow of lust at the same time that she felt him tense and harden underneath her touch. Undeniably flustered, she removed her hand abruptly, as if she'd been suddenly burnt by embers.

"What's wrong?" House teased, an uncomfortable ache pervading his lower abdomen at the loss. "Can't even handle a game _you_ decided to play?"

"I'm not playing," she defended herself, feeling suddenly breathless.

House's arm jerked from his side and he wrapped it around her, his hand landing on her ass, roughly palming her cheek and pressing her hard against him.

"So you're saying you don't want _this_?" he challenged, staring down at her with a burning gaze.

She instinctively arched back to put some distance between her chest and his and locked eyes with him. Her mouth was slightly open but she couldn't utter a single word, too stunned to say anything even remotely coherent.

"What is it, Cuddy?" he whispered, leaning down a little, his coaxing voice dangerously arousing, "I thought you said this was going somewhere…"

"This isn't going anywhere," she blew unsure with a weak, trembling voice.

"Stop me then," he dared, with a gravelling voice filled with pure, raw desire.

He was squashing her against him and it was literally impossible not to feel his rock-hard erection pressed against her groin. His intoxicating, masculine scent invaded her nostrils. The mighty strength of his lean muscles empowered her. Her legs started shaking and she felt as if she might turn into a puddle of want at his feet.

She whimpered pleadingly, the incoherent sound – the absolutely _inappropriate_ sound she realized, but too late – the only signal her brain was able to send to her vocal chords in that instant. House roared, almost victoriously, just as a lion would before throwing itself mercilessly at his prey and his feral groan was the only thing she heard before his lips were on hers, harsh, ravenous, and violent.

He devoured her, thrusting his tongue through her lips, invading her mouth, sucking and nibbling and twirling relentlessly, conquering her taste buds like a warrior who'd have decided to claim a territory as his. The force of his outburst overwhelmed her with anger and she thought she _wanted_ to resist but there was no denying the incredibly powerful reaction it had set off inside her body. Her pulse accelerated, her heart was pounding against her ribcage, her limbs were literally shaking, and the force of the tightening spasm in her womb increased with every second that passed by. She threw her arms around his neck, tilting her head to the side to find a better angle to welcome his assaulting kiss and House instantly groaned his approval through her lips. Impatient and aroused beyond reason, he then tightened his grip on her ass, gliding his hands underneath her butt cheeks and lifting her off the ground just enough to whirl her around and lay her on the edge of the desk behind him. She landed on the hard wooden surface a bit abruptly and moaned against his lips. But she didn't care and neither did he, obviously, focused on making his way under her skirt, roaming her legs with his calloused palms, kneading the sides of her thighs with barely contained urgency, as he was tugging at the fabric roughly to hike the skin-tight skirt up her hips. Cuddy wriggled her butt feverishly, the only contribution she was able to offer as proof of her now undeniable similar hunger, while she fumbled with the buttons of his rumpled shirt, undoing the first three in a train of disorganized, impatient gestures.

House abruptly broke away from their kiss and planted his eyes on hers. She stared back, panting heavily and, for a split second, it seemed to her that he was seeking her approval with a gaze full of longing awe. Her skirt was now rolled past her hips and it allowed her to spread her legs. She parted her thighs, unhesitant, and he instantly nestled against her heat, his hands reaching for her panties, while she buried her face in the hollow of his collarbone and tightened her grasp around his neck. He struggled for a few seconds to pull her lacy panties down past her ass and when he met resistance, he simply hooked his fingers at the front and ripped off the flimsy, lacy cloth with one forceful move. Cuddy jolted the small of her back forward and he ran the back of his index finger down her slit, barely assessing her wetness with one swift stroke, and then his hand was gone. Cuddy whimpered at the loss and wrapped her legs around his hips, joining her high-heeled shoes under his ass and pressing her feet against his muscles, urging him forward. She heard the clicking sound of his belt buckle being undone, then the zip of his fly being opened and then he was inside her. Deep. In one rough and confident shove. She gaped, squealing at the sudden, brusque invasion that had left her no time to adjust to his incredible length and girth but the feeling of him sheathed deep within her overcome her with pleasure more than anything else, quickly replacing the initial discomfort by an aching craving for more.

He groped her ass possessively and pulled her tightly against his hips as she clawed at his shoulders and he started to pound into her with ferocious strength, the pace of his thrusts a mix of self-controlled leisureliness and resolute might. Each time he reached the depth of her, ramming inside her core, it squeezed a strangled groan into his throat that she echoed with a lascivious moan, tilting her head backward to gasp for air. He removed one hand from her ass and grabbed her neck, wrapping his long fingers around her nape to tip her head back upward. Then he buried his face in her hair and started panting shamelessly in her ear.

"Feel this?" he growled against her skin, "_This_ is what you're doing to me Cuddy. You drive me completely crazy. You're always here, around me, _everywhere_, flaunting your impossibly hot body at me, teasing, when you know what it does to me..."

He thrust even deeper and harder into her, reaching the hilt of her womb with his cock, before pulling out, sliding out almost to the head, and ramming back again with bruising force. His hand on her ass pressed her hard against him so that she would absorb the shock of his thrust as his fingers, laced around her neck, were keeping her close to his face.

"You just _know_ it. Tell me that you know it," he demanded imperiously, pounding into her once more.

"Yes," she answered with a puff, feeling dizzy with lust.

She reached for his shirt and roughly slid it off of his shoulders, uncovering his collarbones and shoulder blades and she went for his skin, biting the round shape of his muscled upper arms with delirious fervor. He replied with increased ardor, shoving harder and faster into her, jolting her pelvis backward with each hip sway, then bringing her back to the edge of the desk with all his might and main before hammering forth again.

It went on for a couple more minutes, the passionate violence of their outburst never waning until Cuddy started to pant really fast and loud, her legs closing tighter around his hips, her nails digging into his flesh, her every muscle irrepressibly tensing up as the orgasmic wave threatened to drown her with the inescapability of its devastating power.

"Yes," House prompted her with a groan. "Come for me, Cuddy. Yes…"

She resisted the urge to obey his command, but she was already too far gone to stop the overwhelming process. Her thighs started trembling, her inner walls clamped around his length and she cried out in his chest, her lips tasting the tiny beads of sweat on his torso. He wrapped his arms around her waist and squeezed her tight against him as he followed right behind her, spurting his semen deep into her core in several pulsing jolts.

Then he suddenly froze, his face buried in her neck, his warm agitated breaths along her skin burning her with forbidden heat. His hips jerked forward once more, and a shiver ran down his spine as he half-collapsed on top of her, making her topple backward until she was forced to put her hands flat on the desk behind her to keep her balance. His forceful grip around her loosened gradually and he released her from his embrace, sliding his face from her neck down to her chest, nuzzling the hem of her cleavage and rubbing his nose against her skin, as he tried to catch his breath.

He finally straightened up, almost reluctantly and they stared at each other in mute awe, clearly searching for something insightful to say, a smartass comment, a biting remark, _anything_… but truth was, none of them could find any appropriate word that'd have been worth sharing and relevant enough to define what had just happened. So, in an awkward silence, House carefully slid out of her and Cuddy sat up straight, pulling herself together hastily and yanking her skirt down to cover her upper thighs.

"Wow. That was… unexpected!" House exclaimed after a beat, zipping up his pants and readjusting his shirt on his shoulders.

She got off of the desk and tidied herself up, quickly smoothing out the length of her skirt down her legs, and tugging a wayward curl behind her ear. Then she lifted her chin up and looked him intensely in the eyes, her pink cheeks still flushed with the afterglow of their incredibly passionate lovemaking.

"The desk stays right here, House," she announced suddenly, slightly breathless. "I'd better not come face to face with any of your guys trying to remove it from my office, again. Got me?"

His lips curved into a smile, and he walked toward her, standing barely one inch away from her, staring into her eyes with a mischievous gaze.

"Don't worry, Cuddy." he rasped with a teasing voice, as he leaned down to her face. "I wouldn't want it to be anywhere else now. I might even come to your office more often just to make sure it's still here. See if you're in an arguing mood…"

"Don't even dream of it, House," she warned him with a wicked smile.

He smiled back, one of his devastating, roguish smiles and took a step back, allowing her to regain some of her personal space. She exhaled deeply and only then realized she'd held her breath this whole time. House leaned down to grab his cane on the floor, finding Cuddy's shredded panties lying just next to it. He snatched them hastily and stood up.

"I'm keeping these, if you don't mind," he declared, shoving them inside his pocket. "You won't need them anymore, anyway."

She narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again and set her lips, just staring at him in silence, instead. He stared back for a while, the hot tension still palpable between them and then suddenly flung his wrist up in front of his face, pretending to check his watch but not really paying attention to the dial.

"I've gotta go!" he said. "Poker's night at Wilson. There'll be booze and cigars. Can't say no to that!"

He turned on his heels and started limping to the exit door and before she could answer anything, he was out of her office.

Her gaze lingered on his silhouette, walking away with a bouncing limp for a few seconds and then, she shook herself back to reality, scanning the empty place around her with a look of total bafflement: She could replay the scene a million times in her mind, she _knew_ already that she'd never find a decent explanation that would be satisfying for her enough to allow her to rationalize the completely out-of-control fit that had consumed them both just merely minutes earlier. She felt the familiar, uncomfortable feeling of guilt invade her and she clenched her jaw tight, forcefully pushing it back to the back of her mind. She was _not_ going to feel guilty for this. If anything, it'd only served to prove her point. Yes, she was absolutely sure of that now: he was the one having the hots for her. And he had it bad. She'd barely done anything and it had turned him into a wild animal. She felt an almost painful twinge of yearning contract her lower abdomen at the evocation of the still fresh memory and closed her eyes, forcing herself to take a deep breath to calm herself down.

Then she went to her desk, bent down to grab her briefcase and walked to the door with a wobbling pace, her legs still shaking a little. She put her coat on, wrapped her scarf around her neck and seized the doorknob in her hand. She paused before opening the door, feeling the irrepressible need to look behind her one last time. She turned her head slowly, took everything in at once: the desk, shiny and dark, adorning the center of the room; the protective canvas that still hung at the bathroom door on the right; the brand-new light grey couch on the left that had been just delivered that morning… She took in a sharp breath, straightened her shoulder and turned around to face the door again.

Then she switched off the light and left.

** THE END **

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_**A/N**_

_I'd welcome any idea that you'd want to share about a possible scenario for another "first time." If you don't have any specific idea, but want me to focus on one character rather than the other as the one who initiates things, or if, maybe, you thought about a motive why they'd have sex, a specific kind of "mood" to have it... don't hesitate to share either! :P_

_I'm working on part 3. I hope I'll be able to update soon. Stay tuned! :)_

_A huge THANK YOU to everyone that have read this since I first posted it and left me a review. Thanks to everyone who have added this to their list of favorites or put the series on alert. It really and sincerely touches me a lot. :)_

_Have a nice day everyone, and thanks for reading! ~ maya_

_PS: That 'first time' is my fictional explanation for that scene in the episode "Painless" where House is sitting on the edge of Cuddy's desk and running his fingers over the work with a melancholic look on his face... :P_


	3. You're Gonna Be Okay

_Hi everyone!_

_Here's the third installment in the First Times series. _

_It's set after "Simple Explanation" (season 5). __**Circumstance**__: Kutner's death. __**Motive**__: comfort. __**First move**__: … uhm, I let you be the judge of that!_

_I want to thank every one of you for their kind reviews, and also those of you who added this story into their lists of favorites. I'm also very grateful for the thousands of people who have visited this story since I first posted it here. I wish I could hear from you all, lol! :D_

_A special, very dedicated thanks to my girl RochelleRene who beta-d the first two chapters and corrected my awful grammar mistakes with patience… Thanks to Z, the ginger gizmo, too, whose bullying, shrieking demands are certainly part of the reasons why I keep kicking myself in the butt to find the time to write, even if I deny it most of the times…_

_Now, on to the new chapter. I hope you'll enjoy it!_

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**** YOU'RE GONNA BE OKAY ****

**First Times series ****#****3**

He doesn't register the knock on his door the first time. Or maybe, it's just because he'd rather not hear it and pretend there's no one there. The second time it starts echoing in the room, it becomes impossible to ignore it as the insistent rasp on the wooden door practically screams stubborn impatience and he knows whoever's waiting in that fucking hallway for him to open won't give up. He stands up, pushing himself off of the couch with a wince and drags his limping body to the entry of his apartment, clutching his thigh with his hand. He swings the door open, and leans against the doorjamb, an angry glare on his face, ready to bark a protest against the unwelcomed disturbance. But then, he ends up face to face with _her_.

"House," she starts reeling off quite instantly, not leaving him enough time to react. "I… err… I came to see how you were."

Her voice is dripping concern and empathy but it unnerves him less than the fact that everything in her perfect, tidy body painfully contrasts with his scruffy, miserable self. He doesn't want to see her, or more precisely, _doesn't want her to see him_. Not like that. And definitely not tonight, of all nights.

"Go away," he grumbles resolutely, pushing the door shut.

She places her palm against it swiftly and pushes back forcefully before he has time to close it. She's seen the bloodshot eyes and the livid face. She tries not to make too much of a big deal out of it. Truth is, she kind of expected that. But now that she has confirmation, there's no way she's going to leave him alone.

"House, let me in," she says. And it's not a request.

He sighs, annoyed, but still releases his grasp and lets go of the door, leaving it ajar before turning on his heels to pace back inside. He's barefoot, and wears a creased, black tee-shirt and a white and blue striped PJs pants.

She stands at the threshold for a short while longer, takes a deep breath, bracing herself for the upcoming, predictable scornfulness, and finally enters. She closes the door behind her and walks around the couch where he went to sit down again. She stands, facing him, silent, as she takes her surrounding in with a quick scanning glance at the place. Quite right away, she notices the empty glass near the half full bottle of bourbon on the coffee table. She also doesn't fail to notice the plastic orange bottle next to it that lies uncapped with a few white pills spilling from it. She instantly feels the pang of worry, clutching her heart as her brain automatically counts the white tablets, seven of them, but she doesn't say anything about it.

"The ceremony was very moving," she says evenly, instead.

"Halleluiah!" House scoffs, grabbing the bottle of bourbon and pouring himself another glass.

He brings the glass to his lips and swallows a large gulp. Then he vaguely gesture toward the coffee table and says: "Help yourself," and she has the brief, disturbing feeling that his invitation includes everything that's lying there: the alcohol, the pills...

"No thanks. I'm not thirsty," she replies, her voice low.

He shrugs and slouches back into the couch, laying his crossed legs atop the coffee table.

"Why didn't you come?"

"Huh? Have you met me?" he spits. "I don't fit in those kinds of parties. My best attempt at fake, dignified empathy wouldn't do it even if I tried. Must be coz I terribly lack practice..."

Her mouth falls agape and she stares at him in shock for a while.

"House, this isn't a _party_! It's about friends and family showing grief and supporting each other through a sad ordeal."

"Oh please, Cuddy, don't tell me you're buying that crap. I bet half of the people that showed up there hadn't been in touch with him in years! I'm sure most of them didn't even know what he was doing for a living."

She shakes her head resignedly, feeling helpless at the amount of bitterness behind his cynical logic. And she inwardly scolds herself for thinking that he's probably right just for a fleeting second.

"But _you _knew him," she insists. "Kutner was your friend."

"No. He was a member of my team!" he corrects.

"But you respected him. And he respected you."

"DID HE?" he suddenly barks. "Is that how you're showing respect nowadays? By shooting a bullet into your brain?"

"House, this is not your fault," she says carefully.

"Duh. Of course it's not my fault!" he shouts, extravagantly. "I'm not the one who pulled the trigger. He did it to himself. Not me."

"I know you hate the fact that you didn't see it coming. That maybe, you even feel responsible for not being able to prevent it but-"

"I'm not responsible for anything. That moron was just too much of a coward to deal with his shitty life."

"Don't say that."

"WHY? Life is shit, Cuddy. For _everyone_. But not all of them conveniently take the easy way out. Kutner was no more miserable than any other."

"He was an orphan. Maybe he was feeling alone," she offers softly.

"And that's the excuse you've got for him?" he replies angrily. "News flash: being an orphan doesn't necessarily always suck. Not when you're adopted by parents who actually _love_ you, anyway."

She bits her lips and averts her eyes, unable to deal with the intensity of the hurt she can read in his gaze.

"He was a good doctor," he says resentfully after a beat. "At least, he could have become a decent one," he amends, with a softer voice. "And he just… he just threw that away. Just like that."

"People just… commit suicide, sometimes. As inexplicable and infuriating as it might feel for the ones who stay, it just… happens. There's no explanation, no one to blame."

"Yeah. There's no one to blame but the moron who offed himself," he says with disdain.

She sighs. She knows he's hurt and that angry deflection has always been one of his strongest defense mechanisms. She shouldn't be surprised; especially when she knows, more than anyone else, the intensity of the helpless lie it tries to hide. Kutner was not like any doctor. He was a bit of a rough diamond, full of that beginner's clumsiness at times, but she knows House saw potential in him. Kutner was unconventional and challenging, just like him. He pushed boundaries, just like him. She, too, can't deny the pain it caused her to hear that he was dead. So young. Such a waste, she'd thought then. And it went far beyond that simple, administrative extra paperwork she'd have to deal with to find a decent replacement, all the while knowing that House would be a pain in the ass about it because he hates change and, no matter how hard he tries to pretend the opposite, it's just in his nature to refuse to acknowledge that life goes on and that, sometimes, there's nothing he can do about it…

He drinks again, his face impassive, and it saddens her to see him so emotionally locked-in, wallowing in that typical, lonely misery of his that he so stubbornly refuses to share. She'd want to take his pain away. She'd want to be more than just _that_ person, who checks on him to make sure he doesn't push the limits too far. But, most of all, she'd want him to _feel_ that she hasn't come because she pities him; that it's so much more… that she couldn't help it… that she just had to be here…

"Did you eat something?" she suddenly asks, glancing towards the kitchen.

"Bah," he grumbles throatily. He holds his glass up and flashes a cynical smile at her. "Golden nectar to warm my empty stomach!" he declares solemnly. "And a few peanuts to add something solid… Now wait!" He points at the coffee table. "Oh my God, these white little things aren't peanuts? Oops…"

She rolls her eyes and takes a deep, heavy breath.

"House!" she scolds. "How many Vicodin did you have?"

"You mean today or in the last three hours? Coz then, the answer is significantly different. Not necessarily in the way you think it is, by the way-"

His raw, uncensored honesty with her when it comes to confess the depth of his vices has always baffled her. He undeniably trusts her, she knows it, but then why doesn't he let more of his vulnerability show through to her? Why does he always have to be so guarded, hiding behind provoking, sometimes crude comments meant to shock her, test her limits, as if he needed to keep her at a safe distance when all she wishes is for him to let her in… just a little.

"That's it! I don't wanna know how many pills you've taken, but you've had enough for tonight," she suddenly declares with a steady voice, leaning down to collect the tablets and put them back into the bottle. Then she swiftly puts the cap on and slides the bottle in her skirt's front pocket.

"Hey, go get your own prescription if you want some of these!" he half-protests. "They're mine. You can't have them!"

He plays the outraged card with a little more exaggerated force than necessary but, eventually, he doesn't resist. He lets her. He's always let her. Fix the boundaries, challenge him not to trespass them, that's how it is between them, and the reason why he's always taken her bait. He wouldn't allow any other one to say 'no' or 'enough' to him without it driving him completely mad. But with her, it's different. It doesn't bother him. She can take his pills if she's decided to. In that moment, he knows she's only drawing the line for his sake and it feels good, somehow, to think that she cares enough for him to do it.

"Drop it, House," she says with a smile, more out of principle than to strictly make a point. "And this," she adds, snatching the glass from him in one hand, and grabbing the bottle of scotch in the other, "is enough for tonight, too. I'm gonna cook something for you."

"Ouch, please, no more torture," he fake-whines, giving her her smile back.

She chuckles lightly, knowing that his remark is meant to tease her about her cooking skills more than it is to protest about the fact that she's confiscated his drink.

She walks to the kitchen, decidedly, and starts rummaging through the cupboards and fridge to find something decent to cook, after she's put the bottle of Bourbon away on a shelf and emptied the glass in the sink. Apart from some, unappetizing remnants of Chinese noodles in a box and crumbles of half-eaten pizza that must be lying there since days, the only thing relatively safe she finds is some dehydrated preparation for chicken soup. She fills the kettle with water and waits in front of the stove for it to boil. None of them speak during the whole time. From time to time, she just glances toward the living room to look at him and she can see he's leaned back against the couch's backrest, his head tilted backward and his eyes closed. She briefly wonders what he's thinking about, what the demons haunting his mind behind those closed eyelids look like.

The kettle starts to whistle and after she's poured the preparation into a large mug, she heads back to the living room. He must sense she's here, just in front of him, because he instantly sits up and opens his eyes, staring at her with an intense, undecipherable gaze.

"Here," she says, handing him the mug. "Watch out, it's scalding."

He takes the hot soup from her hands and grimaces as he brings the bowl under his nose. She sits down on the couch next to him and studies him as he takes the first sip, heedful not to burn his throat.

"How does it taste?" she queries.

"Good," he replies honestly, his voice much softer now, as if the simple fact that she's finally sat beside him strangely appeased him.

Some leisure, silent minutes pass by as House drinks his soup. Cuddy drops her shoes on the floor and bends one of her legs at the knee, tucking her foot under her thigh. She only then notices the guitar that's leaned against the armrest behind her.

"You were playing?" she asks.

"No." he answers, bending forward to put the now empty mug on the coffee table. "That bitch is out of tune and I've tried, in vain, to fix it all evening. I can't get any decent sound out of it."

She thinks that, had he drunk less, he probably would have been able to tune his guitar just fine. She hasn't heard him play often but she knows he's a great musician. She remembers spying on him a few times as he played the piano in the afterhours of the rare fundraising galas he accepted to attend. He seemed so tranquil then; as if the music could transport him to a place where melancholic melodies became oddly soothing, only for him. She slightly shivers as her mind pictures his long fingers running along the black and white keys.

He doesn't elaborate more on the subject of his guitar and, out of the blue, takes the remote control and turns the TV on. He channel-hops for a short while and flicks to an old black and white classic. Bergman and Bogart. War, foreign countries, and nostalgic melodies, played on a grand piano that brings back memories of happier, faraway times.

"You can stay if you want," he tells her without looking at her and she guesses that it's just his shy, unique way of asking her to.

"Ok."

They watch the end of _Casablanca_ together in silence, seated side by side on his couch. Sometimes she shoots him swift side-glances just to see if he's still awake and some other times, she feels the weight of his scrutinizing gaze on her as her focus is turned towards the TV screen. When the final credits are over, House points the remote control at the screen and turns the TV off.

"Do you feel better?" she asks, turning to the side to look at him.

"Yes. Thank you."

"Need anything? I can get you some aspirin if you want," she proposes.

"No, I'm good," he answers, and he sighs heavily, knowing already that it means her leaving him alone again is inexorably what's next.

"You sure?" she insists, hesitant, but she still doesn't move.

"Yeah. I didn't take that many Vicodin, you know. Just maybe one or two numbing, extra ones…" His voice trails off and he self-consciously looks down at his thighs.

_Numbing_. The word echoes in her head and she feels her heart clutch with another pang of sadness for that wrecked, genius man whose life, no matter what she does, seems so fatefully intertwined with hers. She pats his hand with her hand, tentatively, but says nothing. He jerks his head up and looks at her, quizzically.

"I should go," she suddenly says, after a fleeting, silent moment, as she removes her hand off of his. "And you should go to bed."

She stands up quickly before he can answer anything. She bends down to grab her shoes but he reaches out his hand and says: "Hey Cuddy, will you help a poor cripple walk to his bedroom?" His voice is so unexpectedly peeled off of all the previous pretense and deflection, it takes her completely off guard and she looks down at him with her mouth slightly open in surprise.

"Yes, sure."

She takes his hand in hers and helps him stand up on his feet. He steadies himself and she holds his arm to guide him within the first steps. His limp is heavy and he instinctively rubs his right thigh with the palm of his hand. When they arrive in his hallway, she wraps her arm around his waist to take some of his weight on her and he leans a little against her shoulders.

They walk inside the bedroom and he stands by the bedside while she draws the sheets out for him to slide beneath them and he watches her every move with silent gratitude.

When he's tucked in under the quilt, she sits by the edge of the bed and looks at him with a fond gaze.

"He didn't even leave a note. Nothing," he suddenly whispers, incredulous.

"I know."

"Maybe something happened. Surely something must have hap-"

"Shh, don't rack your brain over it, House," she coos softly, cupping his cheek with her hand. "There's nothing anyone could have done."

She feels him ever so slightly lean into her touch so she caresses the side of his face lightly, barely brushing his stubble with the palm of her hand.

"Just try and get some sleep," she tells him with a low, reassuring voice. "You look like you've been hit by a train."

He turns his face to the side to look at her and plants his big blue eyes into hers. The silence in the room suddenly becomes deafening.

"I have to go," she announces cautiously after a while.

She removes her hand from his face and shifts away from him to stand up. He seizes her wrist and clutches his fingers around it tightly.

"Stay," he whispers pleadingly, with a hint of panic in his voice.

"Hey," she asks, immediately leaning down again and looking at him with concern. "Are you feeling ok?

"Never been better," he huffs, smirking bitterly at her.

She smiles a shy smile and rolls her eyes at the irony of his remark, but she can feel the weight of all the pain he still doesn't confess but keeps for himself instead. She holds out her hand and cups the side of his face again.

"You're going to be ok, House," she tells him, caressing his stubble gently.

"What if I don't?"

"Give it time. Just get some rest. You'll feel better in the morning." Her hand still cradling his jaw, she leans down to his face with a reassuring smile.

"I really have to go," she says again, just before kissing his cheek softly.

Her lips brush his stubble lightly and she starts straightening up, but he grabs her shoulder and holds her back. She smiles and leans down again to kiss him once more. This time, unintentionally, her lips meet the corner of his lips. His grasp on her shoulder tightens imperceptibly. She doesn't analyze, she doesn't calculate either, but she can feel his pain and how hard he must be struggling to hide it from her so all she really wants in that moment is just to show him that he's not alone, that she cares, and that she understands him. She lays a chaste kiss on his mouth, softly, and there's no other purpose than to bring him solace then. It's just platonic, she tells herself, when her lips touch his lips again. It lasts maybe just a little longer than it should and that small additional fraction of second is enough to suddenly turn the sensation into something different. Irrepressibly. She feels it radiate inside of her, more distinctively than anything else, and it catches her off guard. She pulls back, and gasps, her eyes intensely staring into his eyes: two light-grey orbs wide open in stunned awe. And she instantly deciphers the answer in his gaze. As taken aback as he is, too, it's impossible for her to deny that there's much more behind those intense, blue eyes than just surprise. It lasts for a fleeting second. It lasts an eternity. She doesn't know. Time doesn't exist anymore in that moment. His pain, her care, all that mess and desolation; all those years spent absorbing each other's misery, pretending, deflecting, it all comes crashing them both in that single moment. And neither of them really wants to fight it.

She leans down again, just as he sits up straight and they kiss again. Only this time, this is no innocent goodbye peck on the lips. It's thirsty and imperious. Their hands on each other follow right after, as she slides her fingers under the hemline of his tee and he deftly undoes the buttons of her shirt. They reluctantly break away from their kiss, but only for a second, enough for Cuddy to pull the tee-shirt past his head as House takes off her shirt and they reconnect instantly. Their lips find each other again and the sound of their breaths becomes heavier with lust. He strokes her back softly with his large palms and unhooks her bra while she caresses his broad shoulders and tips her head to the side to invite him to kiss her neck. He complies and buries his face there, while he gently but demandingly pulls her down to make her lie on the bed next to him.

They discard the rest of their clothes quickly and soon, they both lie naked in each other's embrace, his strapping frame hovering over her almost fragile, petite frame. They don't speak at all. They have no words, really, to express the emotions that their bodies, anyway, know infinitely better how to convey. Cuddy parts her thighs and he nestles her hips, positioning the head of his sex against her folds. Before he pushes forward to penetrate her, House props himself up on his forearms and looks down at her with eyes full of dazed wonderment. She bits her lower lip and swallows back the lump in her throat, overcome by the intensity of his gaze on her. Then he cups her face in his hands, delicately, and rests his forehead against her forehead just before rocking his hips forth slowly until he's completely buried inside her. She closes her eyes, the sensation of him sheathed in the depth of her heat rising from the center of her core to her brain and overwhelming her with a myriad of sensations all at once.

She feels the touch of his lips on her eyelids as his hands on both sides of her head press just a little stronger and she understands his calling. She opens her eyes again and she meets his burning gaze, staring at her, asking her, almost beseechingly, to look at him and to not let go of _that_ connection. She touches the side of his cheek softly and trails her fingers along his jawline and he takes a deep, quivering breath, while his eyes, piercing into her, grow wider and darker with desire. Then he pushes himself higher up above her with his palms and bends his head down to claim her breasts with his mouth. The contact of his lips on her sensitive skin sends shivers through her spine and she arches her chest upward to meet his caresses as he kisses her with delicate attention, sucking her nipples softly and licking her hard, rosy peeks with his tongue. The grasp of her arms around his waist tightens and she winds her legs around his thighs and he trails his way back up with kisses, finding her face again and tasting the sweet pulp of her lips with his lips. Then, slowly, cautiously, almost tentatively, House begins to move inside her.

And they make love.

None of them wants to risk defining what it is, but there's no denying the truth. Even though, tonight, she knows that he's probably more broken and needy than he usually is; even though she's scared to acknowledge all the reasons, _bad_ reasons, why she still wants to be the one for him, now, who will give him _that_, there's much more than just two bodies seeking comfort in each other's arms in that instant. There's longing, and years of silent yearning, hopes, pain and common losses, regretful disillusions, mistakes, and the pride that fed their denial, there's half a life of unsaid expectations, lies and deflections, and yet tonight, while their bodies slowly undulate within that million-year old dance that melts their sweats together, they don't want to put a label on it. They're just too afraid it might break the spell.

Somehow, Cuddy knows that he's probably the one who craves that blissful, careless abandon more; that he's the one who needs to forget and lose himself in the feeling the most. Still, as House keeps swaying his hips leisurely, going in and out of her, again and again, she feels like she's the one he's protecting from the horrors of reality. His back and forth movements are as steady and unchanging as an ocean's tide and it rocks her, waves after waves, inescapably carrying her elsewhere, where nothing, outside of the tender care of his focus on her, exists anymore. He's so large and strong under her touch, it feels like being sheltered under a safe haven where nothing bad can happen. And in the way his sad, beautiful eyes are staring at her, she can see that what he's taking from her then is the assurance that nothing hurts, even if the intensity of that gaze also tells her that he's still painfully aware that the soothing illusion will only linger briefly.

His hands caress her body, almost adoringly, from the sides of her thighs to the luscious curves of her hips, and the firmness of her belly, the frailty of her shoulders, her face, her breasts, and while he's stroking her, she presses her legs harder against his hips, and arches her back higher to offer herself better to him. House searches for her hand along her side and when he finds it, he interlaces his fingers with hers and finally lets go of her eyes to bury his face in her neck. His thrusts become mightier and he starts panting against her pulse point when suddenly, just as she feels his muscles tense everywhere in his body, right before the release of orgasm is about to pervade him, she feels dampness against her skin. She knows why and, as the salty bead burns her and rolls down her neck and into her collarbone, she can't help but squeeze him tighter against her, forcefully, because she wants him to know it's ok and that's she's here, for him.

They come almost at the same moment, House just a little before her, but still, he doesn't deny her pleasure and carries on, in spite of the jolts that shakes his body, until she follows after him and starts trembling in his arms. He freezes when their shivers subside and collapses on top of her, kissing her one last time on the lips softly. Then he pulls out of her and rolls to the side and she stays beside him, immobile, not daring to move or speak, not wanting to break the silence. After a while, he stretches one arm out to the side toward her and she tentatively slides inside it. He instantly wraps it around her shoulder, pressing her tight against his chest and nuzzling her hair, his breath even and peaceful.

He falls asleep a few moments after. She can feel it when the force of his grasp around her slowly relaxes. She takes a deep breath and cuddles up against him just a little longer, prolonging for herself the soothing sensation of his body, quiet and serene beside her. Then reluctantly, she carefully extricates herself from his embrace and gets up. She tip-toes to the bathroom and quickly cleans herself then returns to the bedroom and picks up her clothes on the floor. She gets dressed in silence, and just before leaving, she goes by the bedside and leans down to him. She doesn't kiss him. She just listens to him breathe and then she gently brushes his stubble with her hand. In the living room, she finds her shoes, next to the couch and puts them on. She looks around her, sighs, and then heads to the door.

It's the middle of the night when she exits his apartment and, as she clicks the door shut, heedful not to make too much noise, she briefly wonders if he'll remember what happened the next day. And then, as an oddly unsettling feeling pervades her, she tries to convince herself it's probably better if he doesn't.

**** THE END ****

* * *

PS: that 'first time' is my fictional explanation for the fact that House would have desperately wanted Cuddy to be his savior more than anyone else at the end of season 5... :P


	4. Careful What You Wish For

_Hi everyone,_

_Here's the new chapter._

_It's… a little different than the previous ones, as you'll see, so what I mostly hope is that the result won't be too frustrated and that you'll still enjoy reading it._

_This part is set after "Mirror, Mirror" (season 4). __**Circumstance**__: House' patient identified House as the 'alpha dog' when confronted to both him and Cuddy. __**Motive**__: challenging. __**First move**__: House… I guess, though as the title says: "careful what you wish for"… ;P_

* * *

**** CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR ****

**First Times series ****#****4**

Cuddy was seated on her bed, rubbing her legs with moisturizing lotion – her little evening ritual – when the buzzing sound of her blackberry called her attention on the nightstand. She stared at the caller's ID on the screen and heaved a deep, tired sigh. She had a long day at PPTH and she was just about to go to bed, already craving the much awaited, blissful rest but then, of course, _he_ had to call her…

"House," she said, with a moan of protest. "What do you want?"

"Hey, Cuddy!" he sing-sang at the other end of the line. "Am I calling at a bad time?"

"What do you want?" she repeated wearily.

"Nothing special. I just… wanted to hear the sound of your defeated voice," he teased, reminding her of that stupid bet she'd lost earlier that day when, for his greatest pleasure, his patient with mirror syndrome had identified him as the alpha dog in front of an amused bunch of doctors and nurses.

How could she even get caught up in that game with him? Now, he'd most certainly brag about it any opportunity he'd get and she would never hear the end of it. Then again, when was she _not_ getting caught up in a game with him anyway? It seemed as if teasing her was his favorite sport. It wasn't like it was something new, coming from him. She was used to dealing with his tantalizing banter, day after day. She was used to his sexual, sometimes inappropriate comments. She'd never confess it, even less to him, but truth was… she liked it. It made her feel powerful, desired, and unique.

"Well, you heard it now," she said flatly. "Goodbye, House."

"Wait!" he exclaimed. "I think I deserved a little reward."

She sighed loudly and rolled her eyes. Of course, he wouldn't be true to himself if he didn't seize that opportunity as a chance to get his way with her.

"Fine," she conceded. "No clinic duty for one week."

"Oh, no, no, no," he contested immediately. "Though, I'm definitely holding you on that offer… I was thinking of something different."

"House," she said, narrowing her eyes, bracing herself for whatever maddening idea had crossed his mind, "I'm warning you: you're not taking any more applicants to your hire-a-team marathon; Especially if it involves busty, twenty-something females that aren't even real med students."

"Pfff," he exclaimed extravagantly. "What makes you think I would do that?!"

"Because I know you," she answered simply.

House smiled wickedly and held his cell receiver closer to his ear.

"Well, sure. I could do that, you're right," he admitted with a mischievous tone. "But that wouldn't be as fun as what I had in mind."

"What do you have in mind?" she asked, already afraid to hear his answer.

"I thought… I could come over and… you and I… you know… we could do the naughty. Just this one night…"

She chuckled throatily.

"Yeah, right," she said in a voice that meant she wasn't the least bit taking him seriously.

She knew him all too well. Almost twenty years of interwoven history, half of which spent dealing with each other on a daily basis; she keeping him in line, he driving her crazy. Cuddy was more than well trained to the way House played his cards and tried to bargain with her to get what he wanted from her. First he would state his indecently inappropriate demands. Then, she'd make him stand down to almost nothing, denying him the joy of seeing her yield to his crazy claims. And eventually, they'd meet half way.

"Where are you Cuddy?" he asked, suddenly interrupting her train of thoughts.

"What?"

"Are you in your living room, watching TV?"

_Where the hell was he going with that?_ She thought, taken off guard by his question. She pouted, incredulous, wondering if this was just another one of his typical bargains, a la House… But then, she thought again, if it was, what exactly was he trying to bargain for? They weren't at the hospital and his patient had been diagnosed already. Obviously, this was not about some medical procedures he was trying to get her approval on. And if his characteristic M.O was to start with the highest, craziest bid to get her consent on something more acceptable, what was he expecting to get? _I deserved a little reward_, he'd said… But, he wasn't interested in being discharged of clinic duty… She shook her head, quickly chasing the ridiculous idea away from her mind.

"I don't see why this would be relevant…" she answered cautiously as some parts of her couldn't help but test the water a little bit with that answer.

"It's kinda late," he said, his voice distinctively lower. "Maybe you're in bed already…"

"House," she warned.

"You are, aren't you?" he carried on, totally unimpressed by her obvious resistance. "All alone, in your empty queen size bed…"

"What is this about?" she cut him off, her voice taking on a nervous edge in spite of herself.

"I just wanna know if you're going to bed, that's all."

"Yes, I am. Happy now?"

"Alone?"

"Yes, alone! Geez, why do you care?" she said a bit edgily.

"I'm alone, too," he deadpanned, his tone neutral.

"Yeah. Poor House. That's horrible. I'm very sad," she scoffed. "I'm hanging up now."

"What are you wearing?"

Her mouth fell agape and she rolled her eyes, half-stunned by his nerves and – she inwardly scolded herself at the undeniable fact – half-amused by how, with his unique, offhanded way he was _always_ subtly instilling banter between them. She should have hung up then. She very well _knew_ that. But there was that itching, uncontrollable _need_ to tease him back, and she couldn't help it. He was the only one who did that to her. Whenever he pushed her buttons, it was impossible to resist: she just had to push his back…

"Well you said it: I'm going to bed. So I'm dressed for the night." She smiled as she could almost picture the look of frustration on his face.

"Oh come on!" he protested almost instantly. "You need to give me more than that! What is it? A nightie? A camisole?"

"PJs. Buttoned-up flannel shirt with long sleeves and pants," she answered holding back the laughter.

Of course, it was a lie. She was wearing a short, satin nightie with a low-cut cleavage, lined with laces, and ridiculously thin straps barely holding the piece on her bare shoulders. She was naked underneath, hating to sleep with underwear on. It was certainly too sexy, considering she was only wearing it for herself, and therefore quite unnecessary, too, but she'd always considered she owed it to her womanhood, and her self-esteem, to wear feminine nightclothes.

"That just isn't true, Cuddy. And I know it," he said in a resolute tone.

For a split second, Cuddy felt an irrational sense of panic pervade her. What if he was there, standing outside her window and spying on her? Yes, that assumption was totally nonsensical but, truth was, not so unthinkable in itself. He'd done that in the past: appearing out of nowhere at her bedroom's window, in the middle of the night, creeping her out. So he could have done it again… She quickly sat up straight in her bed and stared intensely at the window. The curtains were drawn and all she could see through the flimsy fabric was just dark emptiness. She rolled her eyes, feeling silly and hating herself for letting him mess with her so easily, even when he clearly wasn't there.

"No, you don't!" she contradicted, trying to sound as sure of herself as she could.

"Ha! You hesitated," he replied, with that smug, self-confident tone of his. "Which means I was right! So what is it? Come on… You gotta tell me."

"No, I don't!"

"Yes, you do. Because you want me to know…"

When had his voice become so damn low and sexy? She took a deep breath and squirmed a little on the mattress, ever so slightly sliding down to a more laid-back position.

"I… uh…"

"Let me guess then," he cooed and she squeezed her eyes shut, desperately trying to not let his raspy voice do that tickling thing in her lower abdomen it was doing just then. "I'm going for nightie. Short. Low-cut, of course. Maybe… silk?"

"Satin," she corrected before she had time to think.

"Satin… hmm. That's not bad either. What color?"

"White," she replied automatically, as if she were on auto pilot.

What the hell was going on with her? Damn him! She needed to grab hold of herself. Now.

"Are you naked underneath?" he asked with that same low, gravelling voice.

"That's none of your business!" she said, and she let out a small puff of victory for being able to regain some poise. She was not going to let him drag her there, into that dangerously slippery territory. Now she was perfectly picturing what kind of reward he'd thought about when he'd first mentioned it, but let her be damned if she allowed herself to play that game with him!

"Which means you are," he went on, not even paying attention to her snappish retort. "God, Cuddy! I'm sure you look hot as hell in that nightie."

She felt a twinge between her legs and proof of her insane arousal started pooling along her folds. No, no, no, NO! She couldn't be aroused! She couldn't let him do that to her. There was a pause at the other end of the line, like a hesitation, but then his hot, raspy voice coaxed her again.

"How does it feel?" he said, barely above a whisper.

"Wha… what?"

It didn't matter that she should definitely _not_ risk asking him what he meant. Clearly, she couldn't count on her will and self-control to help her get back to her senses anymore. She needed to hang up. She needed to end that conversation. But his voice was so… hypnotizing. Instead, she clutched her fingers around her blackberry tighter, eager to hear his answer and prolong that delightfully warm sensation that was slowly spreading inside her.

"The satin, along your breasts," he explained as if it were the most natural thing to say in that moment. "Your nipples must be very sensitive, right now… They're hard, aren't they?"

"Yes," she blew, short of breath, not recognizing her own voice.

"Feel them," he demanded, and her hand obeyed in spite of herself, her uncooperative fingers slowly brushing the tip of her erect nipples above the thin fabric of her nightie.

The jolt that shook her body became almost unbearable. Her hand travelled from her breasts down to the wet warmth between her thighs, and her fingers curled around her sex, parting her folds. A low moan escaped her lips when her index found her swollen clit.

"Are you touching yourself, Cuddy?" she heard him say, with a hint of amusement in his voice.

"NO!" She quickly removed her hand from her folds and for a second, she feared he could hear her quickened pulse, as distinctively as she could hear it resonate in her ears.

"Yes, you are. I can hear it in your breath…"

"House," she panted, indeed incapable of controlling her breath. "I'm… I'll see you in the morning."

"But, why?" he asked evenly. "We're doing nothing wrong. You're lonely. I'm lonely. Nobody has to know."

"I'll know. _You_'ll know. This is not happening House," she stated in a definite tone.

"Oh-oh, so you _were_ touching yourself, right?" he teased.

Arghhh! God, she hated him and his sixth sense - or whatever it was - that always made him so… so psychic about her! He always _knew_: when she was ovulating, when she was seeing another man, when she was upset with something. And he always taunted her with that knowledge, as if the very fact that he could be so aware of her rhythms, her life, or her needs would only increase his power over her, and drive her even crazier, just as she was right there and then, feeling horny and ashamed at the same time for being so weak.

Except that, as much as she wanted to hang up, he'd just made it impossible for her to do that now. She was certainly not going to end that conversation when she was at her disadvantage and he had managed to have the upper hand. It was already one thing that she'd made a fool of herself that day, when that guy had implied that House was the "boss" of her, in front of all her staff. Eventually, she'd deal with the aftermath of that with her employees. As the Dean, she knew that, even though they'd most probably enjoyed seeing her being beat by another one of House's power plays, in the morning, they'd all return to being docile, pliable doctors that would obey her every command. But House? That was another matter, entirely. She couldn't let him win twice. She couldn't let him think that he had, indeed, any kind of influence on her. He'd only make a living hell out of her days, after that. And she couldn't afford the annoyance. He wanted to play? Well then, game on! She straightened up in her bed and smiled wickedly.

"What about you, House?" she asked with an innocent voice.

"What?" he exclaimed, visibly stunned.

"Are you turned on, too?"

"Wh… whoa, why would you ask that?

"What's the matter? You started this. You need to give me a little more if you really want me to give you what you want…" she challenged coyly.

"Jesus, Cuddy, are you… serious?" he puffed, completely taken aback.

"So tell me House, are you getting hard, right now?"

"I… err…" he stuttered.

"Yes?" she prompted unabashedly with a low, deliberately sexy voice.

"Yes, I am," he finally confessed with a grunt. "What do you think?"

"Me? Nothing," she replied ingenuously. "Just, tell me more… Tell me how hard you are…"

"What the fuck are you doing, Cuddy?" he growled reproachfully.

"Just following your lead, that's all. You're lonely. I'm lonely. Nobody has to know, remember?"

"Jesus, that's not how…"

"Aww, House. Come on! Don't be all shy now. You got me all excited and then what? Don't tell me you're not going to deliver," she teased, smiling.

There was a sigh at the other end of the line, or more like an exasperated puff, followed by what she could only assume was confused silence. Ah yes, she thought, wiggling proudly on her bed, careful what you wish for, House. Now, he'd see who the boss really was, here. And maybe she shouldn't have enjoyed that as much as she was, but God knew that she _was_ enjoying it. Oh yes, she was…

"My breasts," she reminded him cockily. "What are you gonna do to them?"

"You do realize what you're asking for, right?" he asked, almost angrily.

"Yes," she replied, unhesitant. "I'm a woman. I have needs…" she purposely let her voice trail off until she heard his breaths become shallow. "I'm touching my breasts now. Are you here with me House?"

"Fuck!" he exclaimed.

"Is that a yes?"

"You know what your breasts do to me, Cuddy. Hell, I can picture them right now, round and firm inside my hand."

"Yes… take them inside your hand. Do you feel this?" She pushed one strap over her shoulder and the nightie fell loose along her side, uncovering one of her breasts.

"I do," he half-moaned.

She palmed her breast inside her hand and slowly began to massage it. She was getting a little engulfed in the game, there was no denying that. But, she'd undeniably regained control over the situation and _she_ was leading the dance. So what if she allowed herself to get a little bit of pleasure along the way? It wouldn't harm anyone, would it?

"And?…"

"I'm stroking them," he said tentatively.

"Yes," she approved languorously.

She slid on the mattress and leaned back against the pillows, lying down almost entirely.

"You like that?"

"Yes," she admitted.

"Yeah," he stated his voice getting steadier. "You have the most sensitive breasts I've ever held inside my hands. Or maybe it's just because I knew, right away, exactly how to touch them…"

_Ahhh_. She bit her lower lip forcefully, forcing herself to hold back the lustful moan that threatened to burst out. He wasn't playing fair. But then again, what else should she expect from him? That night they'd shared decades ago, almost in another life, had always been a sort of wicked, ultimate, secret weapon between them. Sometimes bluntly, sometimes in a more elusive way, but each time they were alone, fighting over something completely unrelated and getting nowhere, eventually, it would always resurface, behind a subtle metaphor, a particularly piercing stare, a torturously mischievous smile. They both knew just _when_ to use it as their advantage. And that's exactly what he was doing right then, taunting her with memories that he was sure would take her off guard… But she knew all of his tricks, and she too could play that game.

"You're very silent," he noted, the cocky amusement behind his words impossible not to register.

_She_ was leading the dance. She _had to_ lead the dance, she repeated to herself, straightening up a little and trying to control her breaths.

"Yeah, well…," she replied, feeling inwardly proud of herself for being able to fake indolent indifference perfectly. "There's not a lot of action…"

"I think you're right," he replied unimpressed. "I'm not going to just keep fondling your breasts when you and I both know where we'd want to take that next…"

He breathed deeply into the receiver and it felt as if she could almost feel the warmth of the blow on her skin. "Your nipples are so hard," he said, his voice lower and raspier than ever. "I want to take them in my mouth, and nip the tip with my teeth. One, after the other. Close your eyes, Cuddy and touch them. It hurts, just a little, like jolts of electricity… But then, I'll suck them with my tongue. Soothingly. Can you feel it? Coz I can. I can feel your skin, soft and silky against my lips…"

She felt a pleasuring wave ripple through her and gather at the center of her core. Once again, her hand irrepressibly slid along her abdomen and found her sex, her fingers just brushing the surface of her folds. She moaned, through set lips and the sound came out as a hoarse, almost painful plea.

Fuck, she scolded herself. Was he serious? Was it still just part of a game? Was he messing with her? It drove her crazy not to be able to determine exactly what his motives were in that instant. Why had he called her? What did he really want from her? She wanted to know what his real agenda was, but he sounded so… in charge… and it was so infuriating. When did she let that happen? That's not how it was supposed to be. She needed to regain control over the situation. Over herself.

"I want to touch you too, House…" she whispered hoarsely, opting for a new strategy.

"A little impatient, aren't we?" he teased. "Everything in its own time, Cuddy…"

"I don't have all night," she provoked, defiantly.

"Alright," he immediately conceded, and she thought she could hear a slight hint of panic in his voice. "I know where you want me to be now…"

"No," she said resolutely.

There was a beat at the other end of the line that felt like an eternity. She held her breath, waiting for his reaction.

"What is it Cuddy?" House finally said carefully. "I thought you were enjoying the game…"

So that was it! He was only trying to mess with her brain. And all of this was just another one of his twisted mind games. One he'd be too happy to remind her whenever he'd need to obtain a favor from her, using it conveniently to embarrass her until she'd have no other choice but to yield to his crazy, childish whims. She should have known better. She shook her head and smiled. Of course, that's how it would always be between them. It was too late to back down now but not too late to win the game…

"I mean," she said with a pouting voice. "I want you to be in this with me…"

"I am."

"Not really," she accused, still pouting.

"What do you want?" he said conciliatory.

"Tell me how you feel," she coaxed.

"Ah, Cuddy, but you _know_ how I feel."

"I don't," she lied. In truth, if he was feeling just half as flustered as she was right now, she was fairly certain he probably was near to dangerously overwhelmed, just like her. The idea somehow reassured her.

"I…" he hesitated for a second and that fleeting extra second made her heart beat faster. "I can… taste your skin," he confessed hoarsely. "Smell it. I remember exactly how it felt…"

She gulped and closed her eyes, forcing herself to not let his words overcome her too much. _A game, only a game_, the little voice in her head kept repeating.

"I remember how you taste, too," she whispered unashamed. "I want to taste you again…"

She heard a muffled whimper, several creaks, followed by rustling noises and she pictured him squirm on the mattress as he was probably trying to readjust his position on his bed.

"I want to taste your cock in my mouth…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down. You can't… _say _things like that without a warning!" he protested.

She smiled mischievously, and licked her bottom lip. Oh yes, she could…

"Besides, this is not about me…"

"Who said it wasn't?" she answered startled. "_You_ called me. And you wanted a reward. Let me give it to you…" she added tantalizingly.

"I… err… That's not what…" he stammered.

"What? Are you afraid, House?"

"Me? Pff. Afraid of what?"

"Afraid you might lose control," she teased.

"Oh no, sweetheart," he said, chuckling. "That? Is not what I'm afraid of. Control is your thing, not mine."

Did he just confess in veiled terms that he was… _afraid_? Could she risk taking the hint and go there when, truth was, maybe she was just too afraid to hear the answer, too…

"Then what is your thing?" she chose to ask instead.

"You… " he replied, deliberately leaving the word hanging in the air for a second. She sucked in a sharp breath, shook by the powerful shiver that the sound of that sole syllable had just triggered inside her. But then he added, devilishly smug, "coming, while moaning out my name."

"Really?" she said, controlling her voice to sound as detached and unimpressed as she could. "As usual, humility is definitely not your forte."

"I've done it already. _Several times_. So that's not really like taking on an impossible challenge…"

"Time goes by, House. Things change…"

"Do they?"

She gasped and again, wondered what kind of game he was really playing with her.

"I can still do it now. I can make you come, Cuddy, if that's what you want," he tested cockily.

Yes, she wanted to. But not more than she wanted to make _him_ come. She wanted to have that kind of power over him, too. That was childish and insane, and most certainly every kind of wrong but that was the only way she knew how to protect herself from his games.

"Is that what you want?" he insisted.

"Yes."

"Then, let me guide you with my voice."

"But wait!" she said, feeling suddenly breathless. "What about you?"

"Don't worry about me," he said, his voice warm and reassuring.

"Will you… touch yourself?"

"Yes," he told her unabashedly.

"But I'll still be able to… do things to you?"

"Not necessarily."

"What if I want to?"

"Then you can. Just tell me what you want and I'll follow you."

"And…," she stopped to gather her thoughts, fighting against the inexorable, numbing feeling that was slowly invading her muscles and taking her resistance away. "Then what happens?"

"What happens?" he repeated incredulous. "I believe an orgasm is what happens!"

"Whose orgasm?"

"What do you mean whose orgasm?"

"You know what I mean. House, _who_'s gonna have an orgasm?"

"You are," he replied confidently.

She puffed. _Of course_.

"What if it's you?"

"Not gonna happen."

"You think I can't make you come?"

"Oh-oh, is that a challenge?" he chuckled hoarsely.

"No. Not a challenge," she lied. "I just want to hear you say that I can make you come."

"Yes, you can," he confessed evenly.

"I _really_ can, House," she declared with a definite tone.

A long silence settled between them and in her mind's eyes, Cuddy tried to picture the look on his face to decipher what kinds of thoughts were brimming inside his brain in that moment.

"Relax, Cuddy. You're overthinking this," he scolded, amused. "Don't analyze. Just let go… focus on my voice."

Yes, focus on his voice. Low, hoarse and enthralling. Ok. She could do that. She was doing it… She lay down on her bed and took a deep, calming breath.

"Let's start with getting you naked," he said.

"I already am."

"Are you?" There was obvious surprise in his voice.

"I mean, I'm naked under my nightie," she confessed in a low voice.

"Ok, I think that'll do," he conceded.

"You must get naked, too."

"Don't worry, I'm fine."

"No," she protested. "If we're doing this, we must set some rules…"

"Geez, you and your fucking rules-"

"House," she cut him off. "Just _one_ rule."

"Ok. Hit me."

"You have to promise to do exactly what I ask you to do. No cheating."

"Ok." He thought about this for a second. "But then, you have to do the same with what I ask."

"Ok," she approved.

"No cheating."

"I promise."

"Good. Ok. Wait a second-"

She heard more rustling noises followed by a metallic clicking sound that she assumed was his belt's buckle being undone. Then she heard him writhe on the mattress and suddenly, the thought of him naked popped into her mind and an unexpected shiver ran down her spine, making her squirm with an odd mix of unease and anticipation.

"You still there, Cuddy?" he asked, jolting her out of her reverie.

"Yes."

"Are you ready?"

"Yes," she panted.

"I can hear you are," he said. "What I mean is, are you _ready_?"

"I… yes… I guess I am."

"Let's see about that. I want you to touch yourself, Cuddy. Tell me how ready you are…"

She obliged and parted her thighs, the pulsing throb between her thighs already unquestionably giving her the answer. She slid one finger between her folds and her juices instantly coat it with the warm, dripping proof of her arousal. She started to slowly run her fingertip along her clit, an aching need to tease her swollen nub taking hold of her. Unable to prevent the sound from escaping her lips, she moaned lasciviously when her finger brushed the sensitive flesh.

"Oh, no! Don't stroke yourself yet," he said, as if he could see her. "Just test it, slowly. Then take your hand away."

"Hmm," she tried to protest.

"Your rule, not mine," he reminded her. "You need to do as I ask. No cheating."

She complied reluctantly and removed her hand from her sex.

"Let me taste you," he said, his voice a raspy command.

She bit her bottom lip, uncertain of how exactly he was going to do that and then she understood. Smiling, she brought her finger to her mouth and slowly licked it. The sucking noise made him groan in approval.

"Hmm, yes. Just like that. Now, tell me how it tastes."

"It… err… it's," she hesitated and flush invaded her cheeks.

"Salty," he answered for her, unhesitant, "with a slight trace of sweetness underneath. But barely present, like a citrus fruit…"

"Yes," she said with a puff.

"You thought I wouldn't remember?"

She bucked her hips as a violent electric jolt shook the small of her back and threatened to send her over the edge. No. Not so soon. She needed to control her breaths, she thought, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply.

"I want to kiss you," she said, her voice barely audible.

"Where?" he prompted instantly.

"I…uh," she stuttered. "Everywhere."

He chuckled. "I only have two hands," he scoffed teasingly. "Well, as a matter of fact, just one _free _hand… technically… so you need to be more precise."

She closed her eyes again and pictured his body, trying to remember where the sensitive spots on his skin were.

"In the hollow of your collarbone," she whispered. "And down to the center of your chest."

He moaned into the receiver and the low sound echoed like waves of pleasure into her ear, sending another shiver down her spine.

"Feels good?" she asked, regaining control over herself a little.

"Yes."

"Tell me where you hand is."

"On my chest, where you want it to be," he blew.

"No. Not that one…"

"You know where the other one is, Cuddy."

"Tell me."

"Around my cock," he said his voice more steady than she thought it'd be.

"How hard is it?"

"_Very_ hard."

"So… You're saying that… if I take it inside my hand, it won't get harder…"

She heard him grunt a muffled curse and she smiled a wicked, self-satisfied smile.

"I'm sure it can. Take your hand off," she commanded with a bossy voice.

She heard him sigh in frustration – or was it relief? - and she smiled again.

"Now close your eyes. You know my hand is much smaller than yours, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"And you're so… big," she teased with a mischievous tone.

"Yeah," he approved proudly.

"I can barely wrap my fingers around your cock."

"Hmm…"

"But…," she purred, "I can squeeze it tightly, just… there. You know where?"

"Where?" he puffed.

"Just below the head… once. Then you'll let me stroke it down its length, softly, barely touching it. Until I squeeze again, at the base... and my other hand will play with your balls the entire time, gently massaging them between my fingers… Can you do that for me? Exactly like I just told you I would do it…"

"Fuck Cuddy…"

"No cheating," she warned.

"Ok. Yeah, I can. I… am," he grunted.

"Keep your eyes closed. Imagine this is my hand on your cock, right now… squeezing, and going down, slowly. Then squeezing again."

His moans almost became strangled whines and his breaths noticeably quickened for a while, as she pictured him doing exactly what she'd asked him to.

"How does it feel?"

"Incredible," he admitted honestly.

"I know. You thought I wouldn't remember either?" she teased.

"Fair enough," he said with a smiling voice. "Now, why don't we focus back on you, for a minute?"

She smiled and said nothing but he knew just how to read her silence.

"Cuddy, you don't know how much I'd want to taste you with my mouth right now but… I can't. And yet, you need to be ready for me."

"Yes."

"You're so tight... Even if you're wet, you still need a little warm-up."

"I don't think I do," she said.

"Oh trust me, you do. I don't exactly have gentle in mind, right now…"

"I like gentle."

"Bullshit."

"That's true," she pouted.

"I'm not saying it's not, but you and I both know that's not how you want it now, Cuddy."

"How do I want it?" she asked ingenuously, perfectly knowing the answer already.

"Hard."

She bit her lower lip forcefully and her hips arched up in anticipation. She slid her hands between her thighs and curled her fingers around her bare sex, pressing them tightly against her pelvis to fight the urge to finger-fuck her and gave her body the release it craved.

"Don't touch yourself!" he warned.

"I… err," she startled, unmasked, but she still pulled her hands away as she was told.

"Spread your legs for me," he instructed.

She let out a throaty laugh, in spite of herself. Well, she didn't need to be told _that._

"Disobeying the rule?" he tantalized instantly deciphering the meaning behind her laugh.

"Where's your hand, right now?" she shot back, sassily.

"Just making sure I'm ready for you when it's time."

"Let me touch myself, then," she pleaded. "I want to be ready, too."

"Alright. Close your eyes. Just focus on the sound of my voice."

"Ok," she said, taking a deep breath.

"Remember your hand is my hand-"

"I know! Fuck House, let me touch myself!" she groaned.

"You're so impatient! Pace yourself, Cuddy. Just think how much better the reward will be…"

How could he say that when every nerve ending inside her was burning with torturous need? One touch of her hand anywhere near her core and she feared she might burst into flames when he looked so… nonchalant. How the hell was he doing that?

"Don't come yet," he said, as if he could read her mind.

"I want to come. Don't you want to come?"

"I will if you will-"

"Not if you come first," she still found the strength to challenge him.

"I think I have a little more practice than you do when it comes to deal with frustration," he told her with disarming sincerity.

"Talking about frustration…" she moaned through clenched teeth.

"There you are… Now, you're getting ready," he declared, sounding pleased with himself.

"I'm… just… I-" she wanted to protest but no coherent words would come out of her mouth.

"Rub your clit," he said all of a sudden, his voice domineering.

She complied instantly and exhaled a deep sigh of relief as soon as her finger found her nub. She didn't even know why she'd been so docile, waiting for him to give her the green light but he was right, she thought, as the tip of her index leisurely began to draw languorous circles around the swollen bundle of nerves: it felt so good… She was losing herself in the blissful sensation. And she was getting close, so close. God, yes, she needed that!

"Harder," he prompted, and she jumped, startled by the sound of his voice. "I'm here," he reminded her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. "That's my hand on your clit. _My_ hand that's making you come-"

"Are you close, Cuddy?" he cooed.

"Yes…. No…. I-" The touch of her finger on her clit was becoming almost painful. She could feel her inner walls tighten and relax, in pulsating waves, aching to be filled and she wanted to slide her finger inside her. "Are _you_ close, House?" she asked.

"I'm right behind you."

Fuck. Screw him. She wanted _him_ to come, too. She wanted him to come with her. _Before_ her…

"When I tell you to, I want you to slip two fingers inside you. Hard. And deep. Ok?" he carried on, his raspy voice driving her insane.

"Now?" she begged.

"Not… yet," he stammered breathlessly. His voice too was becoming unsteady and she thought she recognized the unmistakable sounds of imminent release behind his shallow puffs.

Yes, she thought. He was losing it too. And she was the one doing that to him.

"Fuck me, House," she demanded. "Now!"

"Yes. Arch your back for me…"

"No!"

"What the fuck?" he growled. "Are you forgetting _your_ rule, Cuddy? You can't say no…"

"I'm not saying no to that," she said, coaxingly. "I just…"

"What?"

"I want you doggy," she told him with a killing voice she was sure would send him hurtling over the edge.

His low roar of protest echoed in her ear and she thought maybe she'd gone too far and he was going to hang up and leave her there, panting and frustrated and… defeated. But then she heard him breathe into the receiver again.

"What?" she asked with an innocent voice. "_You_ said I wanted it hard. And you were right. I want it hard, House. But I want it from behind… because I know that's how you like it the most… Isn't that true? Think about it... You, grabbing my ass tightly inside your hands to hold me still while you pound inside me, mercilessly…. Until I beg you to make me come…"

"Jesus. Fuck!" he groaned.

"I'm ready, House. I'm right here, on all fours, waiting for you…"

A series of incoherent curses, shortly followed by a few strangled moans was all she heard next and then, she figured he'd probably droppthesis cell receiver on the bed because all she could hear was the distinctive sounds of rustled sheets and slamming palms on the mattress.

"You there?" she asked cautiously, after a while.

"Fuck!" he finally said, back on the phone.

"Did you just… come?" she asked smiling.

"That was low, Cuddy. And you know it."

"Aren't the words you're looking for more like 'thank you'?" she teased.

"Yeah. You think you're all powerful, now, don't you?" he scoffed, but the hint of admiration in his voice was impossible to miss.

"I don't need to _think_ that," she stated with a quiet laugh. "I just proved it."

"But you came, too, right?" he pressed.

"Well, you dropped your phone, so I guess you'll never be able to tell…"

"I can make you come, too, you know," he insisted stubbornly.

"Good night, House."

"Just say the word and I'm there to prove it to you in less than 15 minutes… "

"Good night, House," she repeated with a mischievous smile.

"Cuddyyyy, come on! 10 if I go through the red lights."

The only answer he got was the sound of the hung up tone.

"Good night, Cuddy," he sighed into the receiver, before sliding his phone shut.

At the other end of the line, Cuddy heaved a deep sigh of bliss, as a broad, victorious smile curved her lips upward. When it came to determine who got more sexual power over the other that was a bet she knew he'd never win against her.

She slipped underneath the sheets and stretched like a feline. Then, with a smile, she slid her hand between her thighs and moaned unreservedly as she pushed her fingers languorously in and out of her core, closing her eyes as she thought about his voice, low and confident, guiding her every move until she came with the most forceful orgasm she'd had in days.

** THE END **

* * *

_**A/N**_

_In my mind, that first time could be the reason why House asks Cuddy what she's wearing at the end of "Living The Dream" later in season 4, as if he wanted a chance to get his revenge with her, and also why she smiles so mischievously when he asks her that, just before saying goodbye to him… ;D_

_Have a nice evening! ~ maya_


	5. I'm Here If You Need Me

_Hi everyone!_

_Here's another part of First Times._

_**Timeset**: season 2 "Who's Your Daddy" – **Pretext**: Cuddy's desire to have a baby – **Motive**: Practical – **First move**: House._

_Not the most original subject, I know, but it's kind of a classic, too. I mean, there're lots of authors out there who , I'm sure, have tackled the subject of Cuddy's desire to have a child so, well, there you go... Somehow it was inevitable that I would, one day, want to add my two fanfictional cents to it… I think some of you even left me a prompt about it in their reviews before... Anyway, I tried to do it in a not too much predictable way, though - given the obvious outcome - and I hope it works as it is. To be honest, I can't really decide if I'm plainly satisfied with it but it seems like I can't change it either so, eventually, it is how it is and I still hope you'll enjoy reading it a little for what it's worth… :)_

* * *

**I'M HERE IF YOU NEED ME**

**First Times series ****#****5**

She was quietly absorbed in her paperwork when he barged in her office. The sound of his entrance was so theatrically characteristic and she was so used to it that she didn't flinch, even less bother lifting her head. There was a fleeting pause during which she could picture him standing in front of her, just across her desk, stubbornly staring at her until she would deign to look up. As she didn't, he sighed resignedly and said:

"What did you want the other day when you came to my office?"

The lead-in was quite unexpected and it slightly took her off guard. She finally raised her face and looked at him, her eyebrows arched in surprise.

"Come again?"

"The other day, after I gave you your hormonal shot," he clarified, dangerously calm, "you came to my office and I was under the impression that you wanted to ask me something. What was it?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck, she thought, panic slowly invading her and making her blush.

"Nothing," she quickly dismissed, looking down again to avoid his gaze and pretending to go back to her files. "I just wanted to say thank you."

He took a step closer to the edge of her desk and she could see the shadow of his lean body tower over her.

"Oh no," he said, with unmistakable amusement in his voice. "That was not what it was about…"

She took a deep breath and dropped her pen before looking up at him once more. His blue eyes were intensely scrutinizing her and she felt a twinge in her lower abdomen.

"House," she warned, as unaffected as her thudding pulse allowed her to sound, "I have work to do. _You_ have work to do. Go back to your office, do your job and let me do mine."

He tilted his head to the side and kept staring at her, intrigued, as if he were studying the pieces of a challenging puzzle and then he straightened up and spun around, directing the sound of his voice toward the exit door.

"NO, Dr. Cuddy," he shouted extravagantly, faking outrage. "I will NOT have SEX with YOU in your office. This is against HR policy in this hospital!"

She promptly shot up and practically ran around her desk to get near him, grabbing him by the bicep and swirling him around, forcing him to face her.

"What. Are. You. Doing?" she hissed through clenched teeth, glaring furiously at him.

Standing there, right next to him, with her hand clutching his upper arm, she suddenly realized that they were in the direct line of sight of the nurse counter in the clinic, outside her office. With a swift checking glance, she saw a few of the nurses were looking in her direction, their curiosity unmistakably aroused. She instantly released her grasp on House's arm and dropped her hand down along her thigh, conspicuously staring back at the few observers with that HBIC's smile of hers that screamed: '_everything's under control, it's not at all what it looks like'_... The female employees nodded, somehow empathically, before hastily going back to their work, acting like nothing had happened.

But the seed, more efficient than a warning sign, had been planted, and in a way, Cuddy now knew that House was ready to escalate that sick little game of his and do whatever extravagant, embarrassing thing it would require to get her to answer. And he perfectly knew that as well, if the victorious, self-satisfied beam he was displaying was any indication.

"Ask me," he said, the sound of his voice lowering to a level more suitable for private conversation. His eyes were filled with mischief and his body was radiating alpha male self-confidence, as he was staring down at her, waiting for her to confess.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she stated, somewhat bravely, taking a step back and squaring her shoulders in a sort of defying manner.

"Oh yes, you do!" he chuckled, amused by her haughty stubbornness. "Go on, I'm giving you another chance to ask," he provoked, leaning toward her and closing the distance between them again.

Cuddy set her lips firmly and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply through her nostrils to try and calm down her agitated breaths. There was positively NO way she was going to admit what totally crazy thought had indeed crossed her mind that day, when she'd found herself in his office, almost on the verge of asking him to father her child. What kind of fever of dementia had taken hold of her that day, she couldn't tell but she knew for sure that, had she said it, it'd probably have been the most stupid move in her entire life and she was thankful for whatever rational power had prevented her from actually asking, which would have no doubt given him endless reasons of making a complete fool out of her, day after day, for having thought about it in the first place… House, a father? The father of _her _child on top of that? Tssk, what on earth was she thinking, and why would the idea even cross her mind? No woman with an ounce of responsibility and good senses would have ever considered that an option and _she_ was a responsible woman, goddammit! She knew better… didn't she?

"House, I don't have time for this," she said as she grabbed him by the elbow and gently, but firmly, led him towards the exit, unequivocally letting him know that the conversation was over. She didn't want to talk about that, and even less with him. She was not going to let him rule over her and decide what they should discuss or not. After all, it was none of his business: in the end, she hadn't said anything that day and there was no reason why she should speak now, while the subject was obviously closed for good. She almost had a dangerously inappropriate slip of a tongue, but thankfully it didn't happen so now it was over!

"You know, that's too bad," he half-protested as they approached the door, "coz I would have said yes…"

She froze right on the spot and gawked at him stunned. She sure didn't expect that, at all.

"Wha…Whaaat?" she exclaimed, wide-eyed.

Once more, she caught the intrigued glance of one of the nurses in the clinic and she shot her a daring half-glare. The woman looked down, embarrassed, and Cuddy closed the door to her office, trotting back inside with a determined pace. She headed to her desk and sat on her chair, collecting herself as much as she could. House turned around slowly and approached her again, his chest inflated with pride as he was obviously very happy with himself because of that little bombshell he'd just dropped.

"You heard me," he said, matter-of-factly. "I'm willing to be your baby daddy if that's what you want."

She rolled her eyes upward and forced a mocking laugh out of her throat.

"That's ridiculous, House. I never said-"

"You're right. You never _said_. But that doesn't mean you didn't _think_ about it."

She opened her mouth to protest, but closed it after a second, then opened it again, struggling to find something to say that would erase that infuriating look of smugness on his face. When she failed, she briefly averted her gaze, before looking back at him, half-defeated.

"That was a mistake," she finally said, partially confessing within that simple admission what she had, indeed, considered asking him that day.

"I don't think so," he replied full of self-assurance. "I'm not just your best option, Cuddy. Let's face it I'm also your only one."

This time, she didn't have to force herself to laugh. She looked at him and burst into a very liberating fit of laughter.

"Yeah, sure," she finally managed to say, catching her breath. "Listen House, I'm…. err…. very flattered that you accepted an offer I technically didn't even hand to you but… err…. I think I'll be fine without your help."

"Maybe you will. Maybe you won't. Depends on how much you _really_ want that baby," he teased, not the least bit affected by her obvious cynicism, or at least perfectly hiding it.

She frowned, suddenly feeling uncomfortable because of the way he looked so unnervingly sure of himself in that instant. But he was wrong. Of course, she had other options! Plenty of them, even…

They silently stared at each other a little while longer, defiantly, none of them wanting to cave first. After what felt like an eternity, House rested both his hands atop his cane's handle and leaned down towards her.

"Ok, then!" he exclaimed with a mysterious, undecipherable smile. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me…"

Then, he turned on his heel and headed to the door. After he exited her office, slamming the door opened in his most theatrical fashion, he limped past the nurse that was spying on he and Cuddy earlier and gave her a knowing look.

"She's not in the mood after all," he declared solemnly, as if sharing a dirty secret. "So we rescheduled."

The nurse stared at him, mouth agape and then glanced at Cuddy, who was still seated at her desk and, from her point of view, looked completely flustered, as she was staring blankly in front of her. Cuddy finally seemed to register the nurse's look on her and the young woman gave her a sorry smile but when Cuddy smirked back, upset, she swiftly looked away and pretended to be busy rearranging the flowers inside the vase on the counter.

# # # # #

As if on cue, her period started later that afternoon, making her sadly aware that her body was still ready to welcome a baby while, at the same time, her womb remained painfully empty, which made her feel useless and old. She tried to tell herself it was just the hormones speaking and that the fact that she was feeling down was only a natural reaction at that time of month but, actually, there was more to it than this simple explanation and she couldn't deny the truth any longer.

Yet, from then on, forcefully pushing House's proposition to the back of her mind, cursing herself when conflicting, disturbing thoughts had her weigh the pros and cons of it when she least expected them, Cuddy proceeded to find a solution by herself. As long as it didn't involve House, she was willing to consider every other option she would have. In two weeks, she interviewed seven more potential sperm donors, each time feeling more desperate than the previous time, when she was faced with the cruel, awful inadequacy of reality. All those men may have looked good on paper, some perfect even, but whenever she would actually _meet_ them, face to face, she always ended up convincing herself that this or that, a tiny, almost invisible little detail, was absolutely and definitely crippling. Sometimes it was, rightly, something in the family history that made her suspect the probability of a genetic disease – even though it was way lower than the normal 0, 05% chance; some other times, undeniably pickier, it was the color of the eyes, the shape of the nose, the bone structure, the height… When she met the last one of the candidates, who, after a half-hour interview, seemed to have brilliantly passed all the steps and yet, she still couldn't help but flinch at the choice of his tie color that didn't match his shirt, Cuddy realized that she would never be satisfied: even if the most satisfying solution had presented itself in its shining armor right in front of her, she still wouldn't have recognized it. She refused to acknowledge the reasons why, certainly afraid of the obvious answer at this point, but she decided to stop the "auditioning process" nonetheless. She still had options. At least, that's what she kept repeating to herself…

Had House noticed the presence of the guys coming in the hospital to meet her? It didn't seem so. During all that time, he quietly stayed away from her, remaining almost suspiciously inconspicuous and distant, up to a point where she sometimes surprised herself checking for his presence behind the blinds of her office while she was with a sperm donor candidate, maybe even wishing for him to barge in at times. But he never showed. Not even once. In fact, he was barely around anymore and in two weeks' time, she practically didn't hear about him, except when she had to sign forms for some medical procedures he was asking her approval on; approvals, she noticed, that each time, he'd sent one member of his team to get from her, instead of showing up in her office himself. It became disconcerting. She wondered if he actually cared about what she was going through and if all of that supposedly grand gesture of him wasn't, in fact, just an act, selfishly opportunistic. Surely, she told herself, if she'd been stupid enough to accept his offer, he'd have reminded her how much she was indebted to him until the end of times and probably beyond and she would have never heard the end of it…

Still, one morning, he managed to let her know that he hadn't forgotten her at all via an email he'd sent her the day when she'd met the seventh and last, potential sperm donor. She found it the morning after, while opening her inbox. It had no subject, it was sent from a weird email address that wasn't his, and it wasn't even signed but she knew it was him, without the shadow of a doubt, when she read the single, short sentence on her screen:

"_Come on, Cuddy, you know you can do better than that…"_

Her first, totally spontaneous reaction was to feel relief; relief that he still cared, that he still spied on her, somehow and, above all, that he was letting her undeniably know that his offer was still up. But then, when she actually realized where her mind was taking her with that thought, she fought it back. She chased the idea away, again, and instead decided that she didn't need House at all, even more stubbornly and resolutely than before.

It was absolutely ridiculous.

Fact was, she didn't have as many options left as she desperately wanted to believe she had. She thought about reconsidering the other sperm donors' files that she had rejected at first but, House was right: she could do better than that! Except, she didn't really know _how_… Another week passed without anything happening until, one morning, three weeks after House's crazy proposition, Cuddy arrived in her office and found a small packet, wrapped in Kraft paper, on her desk. She unwrapped it, intrigued, as she knew it had to come from House. When she opened the gift box, she let out a groan of frustration. Inside the packet was an alarm clock. A very unnerving, very conspicuously _ticking_ clock. No doubt, that was provocation. Consequently, and even though she wasn't exactly proud of herself, Cuddy called one of the hospital benefactors whom she knew was quite unsubtly not insensible to her charms. But, as the saying goes 'desperate situations call for desperate remedies.' And the guy was, predictably, very happy to hear from her, so getting him to invite her on a 'date' was a piece of cake. They agreed on Wednesday night, the following week. Cuddy wasn't sure _how_ she was going to bring up the subject of becoming a sperm donor, but she thought she'd figure something out: after all, if the guy liked her, she'd give him a good reason to show her how much.

The next week, on Wednesday afternoon, a stunning bouquet of roses was delivered to her office. The flowers came with a card and Cuddy opened it, smiling, reading the gesture as a good presage: if a man was enough of a gentleman to send flowers _before_ a date, it could only mean her plan would turn out great. When she actually read the card, though, her smile instantly faded. The message on the card read:

"_Not sure Doug's wife will be thrilled with the idea of sharing her husband's sperm with another woman_."

WHAT. THE. HELL?

It was one thing already that she had to learn from _him_ that Douglas was a married man, but _how_ in God's name did House know she was supposed to meet him that day? And even more so, how did he know the reason _why_?

That's when she realized she was screwed.

It was best to admit it once and for all: she would indeed never find the ideal father for the child she wanted to have. Ideal no, but… Suddenly, her mind wandered back to the day when she and House were together in that clinic exam room. What had he said to her?

"_You should know: genes matter. Who you are matters. Find somebody you trust (…) Someone you like."_

She took a deep breath and strode out of her office determinedly. She found him napping in exam room one with an opened comic book sprawled atop his face.

"House!" she exclaimed, bursting in.

He jumped, startled, and sat up straight to face her.

"Have you been spying on me?"

He smiled, devilishly and tilted his head to the side.

"Hello yourself, Dr. Cuddy! Is there something you wanna ask me, maybe?" he teased.

She sighed, showing her exasperation, and closed the door behind her. They sized each other up for a while.

"Faine," she finally said, crossing her arms in front her chest. "You were right. I have no options left."

"Me? Right? Shocking…"

"Shut up!" she cut him off. "You know why I'm here."

He rubbed his chin pensively and stared at her, his eyes glittering with mischief.

"Uhm, no really…" he declared, deliberately playing with her nerves. "Why are you here?"

"Does your offer still stand?" she asked after a beat, looking him right in the eyes with as much poise as she could muster.

He raised his eyebrows and peered more intensely at her, waiting. Of course, he wasn't going to make it easy for her! She puffed, aggravated, but inwardly urged herself to remain calm.

"About, err-" she cleared her voice, "fathering my child."

He studied her for an extra, endless minute, perfectly unruffled. She was beginning to squirm in discomfort when he said:

"Yes."

"Good," she replied, exhaling in one puff all the air she'd held in her lungs within that single syllable.

"Good," he echoed, smiling.

"So, err…" She reached for the door handle, ready to leave, and eyed him up one last time. "You… well… let me know when it's done and, err… I'll take it from there."

She was about to open the door when he said.

"Don't think I'll need to let you know when it's _done_, coz I'm pretty sure you'll be the first one to know _that_!"

She froze, not sure she'd understood what he'd just meant.

"Excuse me?"

"Uhm, you know, when a guy hugs a girl really, really tight, there's a tiny baby seed that goes in-"

Her eyes widened in shock.

"What?" he went on, unimpressed. "Geez, Cuddy, I wonder if you're a real doctor sometimes! I mean, what do you want me to say? You do know how babies are made, right?"

She rolled her eyes and snickered.

"The only place your 'baby seed' is going into is inside a sterile cup. In a lab!"

"Nuh-uh," he said, shaking his head 'no.'

"Uh-uh," she replied, nodding theatrically. "Don't be stupid House, what else did you have in mind?"

He stared at her with a 'duh' face.

"Nice try, but no." she said, resolutely. "See, I _am_ actually a doctor, which is why I know there're other ways to procreate than the one you're thinking about."

"Then, you also know that the success rate is under 15%. Even drops to 9% for women your age. Science can beat Nature, sure, but there's still billiards of people who successfully do it the 'old-fashioned way.' Not by mixing gametes and oocytes in a cup like they're testing cocktail recipes!"

She stared at him, speechless.

"You do remember it's been over three weeks since you had your last injections of menotropins, right?" he said, pushing himself off of the exam table and standing up. "You missed your chances at having a taking of your oocytes. You'll have to wait for another cycle…"

"This is not gonna happen."

"Tick-tock, tick-tock!"

She looked down at her feet, and closed her eyes. He was right: IVF was a long and painful process. And she was not twenty anymore. And he… God damn him, he… with his smug smile, his self-confidence, his lean, tall body and those eyes… She clenched her fists along her thighs and took a deep breath.

"Fine!" he said, making her jump when she realized he was now standing right beside her. He leaned down, dangerously close to her face and she felt suddenly breathless. For a fleeting instant, they locked eyes and then, without a warning, he threw his arm around her to grab the handle behind her back. She took one step aside and he opened the door, walking past her. "Good luck with Doug tonight, then!" he added, exiting the room.

She didn't think. Acting on pure impulse, she seized him by the arm and stopped him.

"Wait!"

He looked down at her hand then lifted his eyes to meet her gaze, a wide smile drawn on his lips.

# # # # #

They tackled the practical details first: according to her cycle, her next ovulation was not supposed to happen until another three weeks. Two and a half at the earliest. She agreed to take her temperature meticulously every day at the same time to check for the drop that'd confirm the date. He mischievously offered to come over in the mornings and take it himself and that's when she first scowled at him. But he looked like a little boy on Christmas Eve: his excitement was impossible not to register and she briefly wondered why the idea of her possibly being pregnant with his child eventually could make a man like him look so… happy? She felt the need to clarify that aspect to make sure he clearly understood that his implication in the process would not be required farther than the step of procreation.

"Yeah, yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Cuddy," he quickly dismissed.

"House," she gently scolded. "This is not a… a Gameboy we're talking about! We're talking about a child."

"_Your_ child."

"And _yours_, too."

He shrugged and looked away.

"When I say you don't have to be involved beyond conception, it doesn't mean I wouldn't let you… if you _want_ to… and-"

"Well, _obviously_, I'm not going to play baseball with him if that's what you mean!" he spat bitterly, brandishing his cane up in the air.

She bit her lip.

"That's not what I'm saying, That's-"

"Cuddy," he sighed, looking uncomfortable. "There's not even a zygote undergoing cell division at this point. Hell, my swimmers haven't even met your egg, yet-"

He looked upset all of a sudden and she understood she was probably pushing him too far in uncomfortable territory, too fast. He was right, as usual: it was too soon to talk about that, even though something inside her mind kept whispering to her that this was a subject they'd need to discuss eventually no matter how reluctant he seemed to be.

"Why are you willing to do this?" she asked him out of the blue.

"You want a baby. All those losers that you've interviewed in the past weeks aren't gonna meet your expectations. _I am_," he answered, cryptically, looking her in the eyes with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

She sucked in a sharp breath and inwardly prayed not to let the dangerously familiar sensation overcome her too much: _this is just an arrangement, practical and convenient_, she reminded herself, _nothing more_.

"How are we going to do this?" she asked with a steady voice, all business again. "I mean… where?" she clarified, when he stared at her quizzically.

"Oh, right: the 'my place or your place' eternal question of logistics. Finally, we're getting to the point!" he said with a playful smile.

"I'd rather we don't do it at my place," she said, with a hint of self-consciousness in her voice.

"Ok. My place, then," he replied unfazed, settling the question with pragmatism.

"I…err…"

"What?" he said, losing his patience a little.

"It's err…" She bit her lower lip to hide her discomfort. "I mean, I don't think this is a good idea. Both my place or yours are too… personal-"

"Cuddy! We're going to have sex, do the naughty, hump each other… _fuck_!" he exclaimed, clearly exasperated.

She glared at him.

"Don't you think we'll be past the 'personal' stage at this point?"

"Not at my place, or yours," she repeated stubbornly, keeping her chin up challengingly.

He heaved a deep sigh and closed his eyes for a split second.

"Fine. So now what? Do we need to book an exam room for D-day? Or would you rather do it… where? In your office? Mine?" She kept staring at him, in silent. "Oh. My. God, you naughty girl! Wilson's?" he added with ostentatious theatrical effect, and she couldn't repress a smile.

"I was thinking about a hotel room," she deadpanned.

He froze and seemed to contemplate her suggestion for a moment.

"Hotel? Ok. Great!" he finally said, with a look of satisfaction on his face. "I'll take care of the reservation."

"I can do it."

"No, I will," he said, with a definite tone.

"Ok," she yielded. She squinted at him and searched in his eyes for hints that'd help her decipher what he was thinking about then but his gaze remained inscrutable.

She opened the door of the exam room and started to walk out.

"This is going to be fun!" he exclaimed, just as she was stepping through the threshold.

She imperceptibly slowed down, gripping the door handle tighter but, just as she was about to turn around and send a witty comeback, she decided against it and shut the door close without making any further comment. Passing by her staff in the clinic, she walked back to her office with her most assertive pace all the while trying to ignore the weakness she was feeling in her legs.

# # # # #

A few days later, Cuddy had her period again, but this time, she felt a strange excitement at the idea that it meant she'd now be counting the days to her next ovulation. And, to her _ovulation_ only, she told herself immediately because that's exactly what it was and nothing else. It certainly had nothing to do with counting the days to _something else_… like, being in a hotel room… with him…

Days passed by and the crucial date approached, ineluctably. According to her cycle, which thankfully had always been regular, she knew she was supposed to ovulate on a Monday. It was oddly convenient because it meant they could decide to do _it_ during the week-end, which would prevent them from having to find convoluted excuses to clear their schedules during the work days. Cuddy read that as a promising sign of fate and felt oddly optimistic about it.

House, for once, had kept his promise and had taken care of the hotel reservation. Cuddy was grateful, first, when he didn't embarrass her, like she half-expected it, by shouting the address in the middle of PPTH in front of all her employees but, most of all, when she received the email he'd sent her to let her know the name of the place, she was pleasantly surprised to find out he'd chosen one of the best hotels in Princeton. Not that she expected him to book a room in a shabby motel… not really… but Double Tree was a classy place, and somehow, even if it made her feel a bit shallow, she couldn't help but appreciate the effort.

On Friday afternoon, the day before their arrangement was supposed to happen she was standing in the clinic, going through some patients' files, offhandedly leaned against the nurse counter, when a voice behind her suddenly startled her.

"Hi there, Dr. Cuddy."

She inhaled a sharp intake of breath and slightly lost her balance, toppling backward against his chest. She quickly straightened up again but, for a brief moment, she could feel his strapping body pressed alongside her and she shivered at the sensation.

"I hope you're doing yoga to keep your body in good shape," he whispered in her ear, "coz FYI, I haven't spanked the monkey in days just to save my precious semen for you. Trust me, those champs are ready and wagging their tails in impatience already…"

She clutched her fingers around the edge of the file she was holding and sucked in a quivering breath before turning around to face him, only to realize he was limping away from her already, leaving her oddly aroused by his childish, ridiculous comment. As if on cue, he turned around only to send a beaming, self-satisfied smile in her direction before disappearing from sight.

She tssk-ed and shook her head, quickly erasing the look of total silliness his smile had triggered on her face and then she tried to refocus on her work.

# # # # #

The next day, Cuddy was standing in front of room 295 at the Double Tree Hotel and she felt her palms become sweaty from a mix of anxiety and excitement. Excitement because, as she kept repeating herself, she was finally going to give herself a real chance to have her dream fulfilled, and anxiety, well… anxiety because it was House, waiting behind that door, and she couldn't ignore the train of unsettling feelings that had started to overwhelm her since she'd waken up that morning. No, no matter how hard she tried to convince her that it was just a practical arrangement, she couldn't ignore the jolt of electricity that had rippled through her body when she'd chosen her lingerie. Neither could she ignore the girlish agitation that had taken hold of her when she'd gone through her wardrobe, trying to set her mind on what to wear, hesitating between a grey pencil skirt and a navy blue dress, finally opting for a casual pair of jeans. And, it'd been impossible for her not to register the smile that she'd sent at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, after she'd applied lipstick on her lips, even though she'd eventually decided that make up was definitely an unnecessary touch, scolding herself as she'd wiped it away from her mouth with a cotton ball.

She took a deep breath, dried her hands on her jeans and knocked on the door. House opened it less than a few seconds later and she briefly wondered if he was feeling nervous like she was, and if he'd been waiting for her to arrive right by the door. It made her smile, which House took as a warm greeting aimed at him. He smiled too, and gestured for her to come inside, adding a funny extra bow as she walked past him. Cuddy stepped into the room and scanned the place around her: snug king-size bed, fluffy pillows, refined beddings, modern but elegant furniture. It was undoubtedly a pleasant room. She felt House's presence behind her and turned around.

"The room looks nice," she said, a bit clumsily, not really knowing what else to say.

House shot a quick glance at the bed, which she didn't fail to notice and cleared his throat.

"Mmyeah. well," he replied, shrugging as if it weren't a big deal.

"I like it," she said, fiddling with the hem of her shirt and staring at her shoes.

"Do you want to order something to eat?" he asked, scratching the back of his neck and looking everywhere but at her.

"No thanks," she replied quite instantly. "I, err…"

"Prefer to get down to business?"

"Am not hungry," she said to complete her sentence.

"Ok. So, I'm right anyway coz it means there's nothing left to do other than getting down to business! Unless you brought a deck of card and wanna play poker. I've checked the minibar, they have bourbon!" he said, winking at her.

She bit her lower lip, and looked up at him with a shy smile. She could tell he was trying to unwind her and she felt grateful for it.

"No, you're right. We should… uhm… do what we have to do."

"Alright," he said and the second after he was sliding his shirt past his head, tossing it on a chair behind him.

"What are you doing?" she asked, a bit panicked.

"Uh, I'm… getting undressed?" he said slowly, after a beat, as if she'd asked the most stupid question ever.

"Yeah, I know," she said quickly, staring at his hands. "But, err, if you don't mind, I'd rather you do that while I'm in the bathroom, getting ready, too…"

He stared at her, dumbstruck.

"That way?" she said, pointing at a closed door on her right.

He nodded and watched her enter the bathroom, unable to utter a single word. The click of the door being locked jolted him back to reality.

"Eventually, there's gonna be a lot of nakedness involved! You know that, right?" he shouted to her behind the closed door.

"Finish getting undressed and get in the bed!" she replied bossily, shouting too.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, dismayed, then docilely did as he was told.

Interminable minutes later, Cuddy finally exited the bathroom, artfully wrapped in a towel that hid her nudity from breasts down to mid-thighs. She was carrying her shoes and clothes in her arms, neatly folded, and she put the pile down on an armchair. Straightening up, she froze on the spot at the vision she came face to face with: House was nonchalantly seated in bed, visibly entirely naked underneath the sheet that loosely rested on his lower belly and covered his legs. He wore reading glasses and was looking down at a piece of paper. The glasses looked good on him, she thought, trying not to focus too much on the fact that it was his muscled bare-chest that mostly made him look dangerously sexy.

"What's that?" she asked cautiously approaching the bed.

He lifted his head and met her gaze, but quite immediately left it to conspicuously and unabashedly check her up and down with a look of pure roguishness on his face. Although she was still partially covered by the towel, Cuddy felt the intensity of his gaze burn her skin through the fluffy fabric of the cloth and hastily slid in bed next to him to hide beneath the sheets.

"That?" he asked, holding the sheet of paper up before putting it back on the nightstand beside him. "Just a bit of research I've done," he told her, smiling. "Well, nothing I already knew coz, I'm a doctor and _this_ is nothing but science but-"

"House," she warned, already afraid to hear what it was about.

"Sexual positions," he clarified, looking very pleased with himself. "I mean, the ones that are supposed to guarantee the best success rates at conception-"

She puffed, stunned.

"So!" he exclaimed, ignoring her reaction. "Doggy, of course, is highly recommended. You know, deep penetration, perfect angle… Great view too, of course, but that's not the point, I suppose."

"Are you kidding me?" she said, her eyes widening in total astonishment.

"Or…" he carried on, still not paying attention to her. "Reversed cow-girl is quite efficient, too. Awesome angle, believe me… Although, that'd mean almost zero access to your boobs while you're riding me-"

"HOUSE!" she shouted, finally catching his attention.

"Uhm?" he said, turning his head to the side and smiling at her mischievously.

"We're not here to indulge one of your porn fantasies," she scolded. "We're here to make a baby. Well, hopefully at least."

"But, this _is_ about making ba-"

"No. We're doing it missionary. The penetration is just fine in that position. Plus, I'll be already lying on my back afterwards which is perfect to relax and-"

"Missionary? Yeah sure, go with the Mormon, boring position!" he protested, pouting. "Really Cuddy, I expected you to be a little more original, here."

"This is not a sex marathon, House. And, sorry, but I'm not the one who insisted to do it _the old-fashioned way_," she teased, repressing a giggle.

He sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Faiiiine. Missionary," he huffed, taking his glasses off and rolling to the side to put them on the nightstand.

When he turned around to face her again, she was hunched in the corner, clutching the edge of the sheet under her chin.

"Look the other way," she commanded.

"Huh? You must be joking!" he puffed.

She narrowed her eyes and tightened her grasp on the sheet. He sighed heavily and turned his head to the opposite side. A few seconds later, he felt her wriggle on the mattress beside him and heard the whooshing sound of the towel being hastily thrown on the floor by the bed.

"You ready?" he asked, a bit exasperated.

"Yes," she answered in a low voice.

He faced her again and carefully came close to her. She bit her lips and stared at his collarbone to avoid meeting his gaze. An awful awkwardness began filling the air. Hell, awkward wasn't even beginning to cover the feeling.

"You do remember how it's done, right?" he said, scolding.

"Shut up! Just… go on."

He reached out his hand and touched the side of her arm. She jumped, in spite of her.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"That's okay," he said, slowly trying to find the least uncomfortable way to position himself on top of her.

They bumped knees a few times, readjusted themselves instantly, grumbled a few more sorry, until finally his body was aligned with hers. Cuddy was so tensed, all her muscles started to stiffen up, almost to the point of cramping.

"Relax," he told her gently.

She nodded silently and took a slow, deep breath. He squirmed a little, struggled to balance his body weight the best he could, heedful not to crush her, while trying, clumsily, to nestle his hips between her barely spread legs. But soon, it became obvious that Cuddy was incapable of just simply letting go.

It was an absolute disaster.

House groaned a few curses through clenched teeth and then rolled off of her with a puff. Lying on his back beside her, he turned his head to the side to look at her.

"You're too tensed," he declared evenly.

She turned her face towards him, too, and frowned reproachfully at him.

"Maybe I'm tensed but, from what I just felt, _you_, on the other hand, are quite the opposite of that!" she accused.

His eyes widened in shock.

"Why excuse me for not having a hard-on on command!" he snapped, vexed, propping himself up on his elbows. "It's your fault! _You_… just lie there like a dead fish!"

"Whaaaat? Well, excuse _me_," she snapped back. "It's not my fault if women's bodies are a little more subtle than men's and I can't just press an on-off switch button to make it easier for you!"

He puffed, collapsing backward on the mattress and then, without a warning, covered his face with his hands and burst into laughter.

"What?" she snorted upset, glaring at him.

House slid his hands off of his face and looked at her with an unexpectedly fond smile.

"Jesus fuck, Cuddy," he said, still chuckling. "You're the worst pain in the ass-"

"No, _you_ are the worst-" she started, then stopped, before narrowing her eyes at him, half angry, half-amused by the ridiculousness of the situation.

He arched his eyebrows, in a sort of expectant manner and then, she started laughing. It was not a totally liberated roar, but it definitely was a laugh nonetheless. They both laughed for a while, lying naked, side by side and, suddenly, Cuddy fell silent and turned to look at him.

"What are we doing here?" she said, her voice quiet and low.

House's smile faded and he stared back at her with an oddly piercing gaze.

"We're trying to have sex to get you pregnant," he told her, without malice.

"Yeah. How stupid is _that_?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

There was an airy beat and she looked at him with a sorry gaze.

"I think I better go," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Cuddy-"

She froze.

"I booked that hotel room. You came… _willingly_. In two days, you're gonna ovulate... You still have a window of opportunity-"

"Don't be ridiculous. Let's face it: this isn't working, House."

"That's not true," he said, his big, blue eyes staring intensely at her. "You know it works just _great._"

She bit her lip and stared back at him, speechless, overwhelmed, and confused. They were there, in that hotel room, both lying naked in a king-size bed and it felt absolutely surreal, preposterous, maybe even completely wrong, in a way. But, at the same time, it felt… how did it feel? Familiar? Reassuring?... Desperate?

Cuddy sighed and searched for his gaze.

"You still wanna do this?" she asked, a bit incredulous, not quite believing she was actually still considering his offer.

"Well, I'm naked, you're naked," he said matter-of-factly, playing down the overall fiasco with an encouraging smile.

"You know that's not enough," she replied, leering conspicuously at his groin. "So what now?"

"I assume a blow-job isn't an option, eh?" he teased, waggling his eyebrows playfully.

She rolled her eyes skyward and glowered at him at if saying: _don't push your luck_!

"I still need a little bit of stimulation."

"Aww," she said with a sugary voice. "Do you need Viagra?"

"Give the man a break!" he exclaimed extravagantly. "I can assure you I don't need any of this to have little Greg stand for attention."

She arched her eyebrows in a sort of challenging manner.

"Are you questioning my words?"

"You're not twenty anymore, House-"

"That's not the point."

"Oh, and what is the point?"

"Don't insult me, Cuddy," he said narrowing his eyes at her. "More than that: don't insult _you_! If you think I wouldn't be able to get it up for you-"

"I'm just noticing-"

"You know, men are visual."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Means… we need to _see_-" All of a sudden, and without a warning, he grabbed the sheet she'd wrapped herself in and yanked it away, uncovering her body in one swift, confident gesture.

She gasped, taken aback, and froze, her nakedness exposed to his sight.

"There," he said in a hoarse whisper, peering intensely at her, his eyes darkening with unmistakable desire. "That's better."

Almost reverently, he slowly raised his hand and ran it leisurely on her midriff, sending waves of goose bumps on her skin in its trail. When he reached her breast, he stopped and locked eyes with her.

"I… err… " she stuttered.

Gently, he palmed the plump curve and pressed gently to cradle it in his hand.

"Fuck, Cuddy, you're even more beautiful than before," he said, his voice filled with admiration.

"House…" she puffed breathless, caught off guard by the delicacy of his touch and the rawness of his confession.

"Shh…" He rolled to the side and looked down at his groin, drawing her gaze in the same direction and letting her know, without a doubt, that he was ready for her. "Just relax," he said, positioning himself on top of her.

Merely seconds after, he was spreading her legs open with one knee and slowly, inch after inch, he guided himself inside her. The sensation, warm, strong and conquering, overcame her all at once. She closed her eyes and it instantly threw her fifteen years into the past, but then brought her back to the present in a flash. It made her head spin, took her breath away, and turned her muscles into jelly. She heard the thudding beats of her heart echo in her ears, became aware of the mighty movements of his hips, aware of his skin rubbing her skin, and she felt the pulsating force of her inner walls capture him deep inside her core. It was too unexpected ad too dangerously overwhelming.

It was too much.

She was afraid of the brimming flows of emotions that started pervading her. She had to stop them. She clenched her fists along her thighs and forced herself not to move. In a stubborn, helpless battle against her betraying body, she forced herself not to feel.

House instantly registered the change within her, instantly noticed her restraint. He slid his fingers in her raven curls and tilted her head backward on the pillow. She opened her eyes and met his demanding gaze.

"Come for me, Cuddy," he panted.

"I'm pretty sure the one that needs to do that the most is you…" she said bitchily, in a desperate attempt at distancing herself from the overwhelming sensation.

He huffed and glared at her.

"For fuck's sake, I need you to be there with me! You want me to come? Then, I need you to come, too!"

He resumed his movements, slowly and merely after the first thrust, she started panting, theatrically.

"Yes," she moaned, encouragingly. "You're right there. Yes, I'm close…"

His reaction was instantaneous. He slammed onward, hard, and sheathed himself deep inside her. He grabbed her wrists in his large hands, pulling them away from her thighs and tying them above her head, mightily, holding her still beneath him. Then he buried his face in her neck and brushed the shell of her ear with his lips.

"Don't you know I can always tell when you're lying? Don't even think about faking or we're done," he warned with a growl.

She gasped and wriggled to set herself free. In response, he tightened his grasp on her wrists and pinned her down on the mattress with another thrust. Skillfully, torturously, he twisted his hips once, drawing an eight between her legs, hitting a pleasuring spot inside of her with his cock that instantly made her want to shout. Furious, she closed her eyes and set her lips firmly, barely managing to hold back a betraying yelp of pleasure, but he noticed. Instantly, he _noticed_. He pecked the line of her jaw with soft kisses, and rubbed his nose along the warmth of her pulse point.

"Stop fighting this," he whispered into her neck. "Stop fighting _me_."

Once more his rolled his hips and she breathed out a moan. He straightened up and looked down at her with a smile. Within the next sway, she bucked her pelvis up to meet his thrust and he gradually released his grasp on her wrists to free her.

"Yes, move with me," he coaxed. "Like that. Come on…"

Tentatively, she began rocking her hips while, within each one of his thrusts, unwavering and confident, he kept claiming her, pressing her down and prompting her to push back up.

"God, Cuddy, you feel so incredible," he said, picking up his pace.

Ineluctably, her resistance started melting away. She wrapped her legs around his thighs, instinctively anchoring herself to him and, after a while, the sound of her pants and gasps became so raw and liberated, the desire between them turned into a burning need. He slammed harder and deeper into her, and she dug her fingernails into his back, closing her eyes to absorb the mighty power of his thrusts.

"Look at me," he demanded.

Her eyes popped opened and she saw him, propped on his forearms above her, his face glistening with sweat. He was staring intensely at her and, suddenly, he took her face in his hands. She gasped and lifted her head off of the pillow, irrepressibly drawn to his face, hypnotized by his gaze and the force of his thrusts inside her. She brushed the pulp of his lips with her mouth and instantly he dived in and devoured her with a greedy kiss. Then his hands left her face and he seized her hips, to keep her still as he began hammering into her, relentlessly. She felt an insuperable wave gather at the center of her core and roar within her making her quiver into his arms.

"Oh God, don't stop, don't stop," she panted pleadingly beneath him, as a violent orgasm rippled through her.

Her inner walls clamped around his length and pulsed in several jolts of ecstasy. He tensed and tightened his grasp on her hips, pining her on the mattress to shove harder and deeper into her a few more times until an incoherent groan came out the depth of his throat and he froze while she felt the thick, hot spurts of his semen fill her core, again and again.

He collapsed on top of her and remained buried inside her without moving for long minutes, caressing her face and softly kissing every inch of her skin his lips could access.

# # # # #

When he slid out of her and rolled to the side, an awkward silence inevitably settled between them, replacing the unrestrained lust that had set them ablaze only moments earlier. The difference was palpable and the silence in the room, deafening.

"House?" she said, after a while. "You didn't really do all of this to get me pregnant, did you?"

He turned his head to the side to face her but didn't answer.

"Did you do it just to… have sex with me?" she asked cautiously, with a low voice.

He smiled, a genuinely fond smile, and rolled his eyes.

"Well, I can't deny that was definitely an upside-"

She puffed, hurt, and instantly started to sit up straight. He seized her by the shoulders and pushed her down on her back again.

"BUT!" he exclaimed, grabbing a pillow and mightily sliding it underneath the small of her back, "I also did that because _you_, for whatever crazy reason, convinced yourself that you need to procreate. And, as I said, I do believe that I'm your best choice. Face it, Cuddy: your hot bod and my genius brain, there's no better combination that'd guarantee you the golden medal at the Baby Olympics, which, with your obsession for perfection must be the ultimate turn on! Now, if you really want _that_ to happen, stop fidgeting and give my little swimmers a chance to climb their way up that hostile environment!"

She stopped moving and stared up at him, mouth agape.

"The pillow is meant to keep your hips arched up, for-" he started to explain, hesitant, when she didn't even crack a smile at his joke.

"I know what it's for," she unintentionally half-snapped.

He frowned and scrutinized her face quizzically.

"What is it?" he asked, somewhat angrily. "I'm not sure it's the best time to have second thoughts, you know."

"I'm not, it's just…" She bit her lower lip and looked away feeling overwhelmed and desperately trying to avoid showing it.

House read that as self-consciousness and sighed, visibly relieved. He grabbed the sheet and carefully covered her naked body with it.

"Here," he said. "That better?"

She turned her head back to face him and nodded shyly. He put out his hands and brushed the side of her cheek with his fingertips.

"You ok?"

"Yeah," she whispered, feeling a lump tightening her throat.

"Good," he replied, taking a deep breath and then he sat up straight in the bed. "You know what? I was thinking maybe we can order something. Champagne? What do you say?" he asked, with a boyish smile, reaching for the phone on the nightstand.

"I don't think-"

"Why? Come on Cuddy, you and I could use some bubbles!"

"Only you would sleep with the girl first and then think about buying her a drink!" she said with a sad smile.

"Well, maybe we could do that another time then. I mean, the drink, of course, not the sex… although well, anytime you're up for it, you know, I'm definitely up for it, too!"

"House," she gently scolded.

"Not a good idea?" he said, putting the receiver back on its cradle. "You're right: pregnancy and alcohol. Bad combination."

She opened her mouth to say something but he covered her lips with his index finger to silence her before she could speak.

"Shh, don't say a word. No champagne. I get it…" There was an endless beat and then, he cleared his throat. "Listen, you stay here, relax, let my awesome spermatozoids swim their way up your uterus and I, am going to take a shower. Ok?"

"Ok."

"You stay here?" he said again with a bit of regret in his voice.

She nodded unconvincingly and he got up. She watched him walk to the bathroom, shameless in all his naked glory, and when he closed the door behind him, she sighed heavily. She heard the lock on the door and she understood what he was doing just then: he was offering her an easy way out. No explanation to give, no awkward moment to face. Just a convenient mean to leave without having to face him and talk about what had just happened. And she knew that she was going to do it, no matter how it tore her apart to actually have to.

All of this, that… connection between them, that passion, irrational and wild, it was too strong, too untamable and too crazy to get them anywhere. God knew she craved his touch, his attention, his care but… truth was, life, _real life_, was not happening in hotel rooms and as much as she desperately wanted to stay and be with him, she knew she couldn't. And he knew that just as much. That's why he'd gotten out of bed and pretexting he needed to take a shower, when obviously, he could have waited a little longer. He'd just given her the opportunity to act like nothing could have started that day, in room 295 in Double Tree Hotel.

Cuddy felt a tear roll down her cheek and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. She heard the sound of the flowing water coming from the bathroom and she realized it had taken him ages to acttually get under that shower, for real. She wondered what he was thinking about in that instant, but quicly chased the idea out of her mind. Instead, she took a deep breath, before slowly propping herself on her elbows to get up. She retrieved her clothes on the armchair, got dressed quickly and, after one last, longing look around her, she walked to the door and exited the room.

# # # # #

One morning, exactly 16 days later, Cuddy woke up with the discomforting awareness of a trickle of warm liquid pooling down her legs. She didn't have to check to know it was blood. She walked to her bathroom, threw her tainted night clothes in the laundry basket and crawled under the shower, washing away the salty taste of her tears with hot water. She dressed with a dark pair of pants, barely applied make-up on her face and drove to work, where she forced herself to be her usual bossy self, giving polite but distant smiles to every employee that greeted her on her way to her office. Around noon, she asked her assistant to go buy a salad for her in the cafeteria and some frozen yogurt. While almost everyone was having lunch and the hallways were deserted, she took the elevator up to the maternity ward, sat on a bench in front of the nursery and ate her meal, half-heartedly, looking miserable. Then she went back to her office, locked her door and buried herself in boring paperwork for the rest of the day.

The morning after, when she entered her office, she spotted a Styrofoam cup on her desk. She approached and the delicate smell of hot cappuccino tickled her nostrils, and then she saw the post-it note that was attached to the lid. It simply read:

"_I'm sorry it didn't work. If you want to try again, I'm here if you need me_."

She peeled off the post-it, sat down on her chair and stared at the cup, feeling a bit overwhelmed, in spite of her. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her mind suddenly being invaded with a brimming flow of memories of him, slowly going in and out of her, with a deliberate pace, focused, confident and disconcertingly tender. When images of his intense blue gaze staring down at her popped in her mind and became so real it sent an almost painful spasm in her womb, she opened her eyes and shivered slightly, shaking her head to bring herself back to reality. She looked at her hand, holding the post-it, re-read the note once more.

"_I'm sorry it didn't work."_

Somehow, even though he'd never really said it, she knew he'd meant more with that "it" than just her failed pregnancy, and when she understood what kind of choice he was _really_ handing her then, there were no words to express how sorry she felt, too. She smiled bitterly, crumpled the little piece of paper in her palm and then threw it in the bin at her feet with a sigh.

**** THE END ****


	6. One Hundred Million Dollar Thank You

_Hi guys,_

_Here's a new one-shot for the First Times series._

_This part is set right after "Babies & Bathwater" last scene (season 1). _**_Circumstance_**_: Good riddance Vogler! ;P. _**_Motive_**_: Grateful (and definitely bantering). _**_First move_**_: House._

_I hope you'll like it… :)_

_A special, big thank you to my pal MystryGAB (whose stories you should definitely check) and who proof-read this one-shot for me. Smooches, I… ;)_

* * *

**** One Hundred Million Dollar Thank You ****

**First Times series #6**

She opened the peephole more out of habit than to really check who was visiting her at this late hour for there was no doubt who that characteristic, rapping knock on her door belonged to.

He grinned boyishly at her when her face appeared behind the bars of the little square hole. She cringed before slamming it shut and then pulled the door wide open, sighing exasperatedly. Her long hair was untied and messy curls framed her beautiful, sleepy face. As he unabashedly and quite instantly eyed her up and down with an undressing gaze, he noticed her bare feet and the grey, cotton bathrobe that she was wearing loosely wrapped around her slender body, with probably just a flimsy nightie underneath it or, he couldn't help thinking, better: maybe even nothing...

"House, it's late," she said, wearily. "I'm not on call and I was about to go to sleep. So whatever it is that you want to ask me, it'll have to wait until tomorrow."

"You left the party quite early," he replied, unmoved by her rather cold greeting.

He was standing with his left hand behind his back and suddenly jerked it in front of him, revealing a bottle of champagne that he held out to her in an offering gesture.

"I managed to save this. I thought you'd want to celebrate the metaphorical death of Vogler with me."

"Sorry, I'm not in a celebrating mood," she said drily. "Plus, I don't drink."

"You drank earlier," he reminded her with a smile, trying not to let her apparent grumpiness affect him.

"The exception proves the rule."

"Come on," he prodded, waggling his eyebrows playfully at her and shaking the bottle closer to her face. "You know you want to."

She rolled her eyes and let go of the door handle, turning on her heel and walking back inside her house in a sort of resigned way, leaving the door open behind her. He watched her as she scuffed her feet and disappeared into her living room and he came in, closing the door behind him and following after her.

"_Why_ are you really here?" she asked him when he joined her in the poorly lit room.

She stood facing him with her arms folded over her chest in a kind of protective manner. She looked tired but still determined enough to take him off guard with her question.

"I… uh…" he stammered. "I told you: I thought we could both raise our glasses and celebrate the dismissal of Vogler together."

"Bullshit," she said, shaking her head. "You and I both know you don't do celebrations. You're here for another reason. So what? You wanna gloat about your victory, is that it? Dr. House defeating the bad guy. Go ahead: you must be really proud."

He frowned and narrowed his eyes at her, a bit taken aback by her reaction. He took one tentative step in her direction and put the bottle of champagne down on the coffee table.

"I'm not the one who defeated him, actually. _You_ did," he said softly.

"And you can enjoy the result just the same: you won't have to wear a coat, or fire anyone in your team. Which means, you're basically free to act as smug and almighty as usual while you go around the hospital like you own the place; or at least _think_ that you do. So congratulations, House. Order has been restored and everything's back to normal for you!"

"That guy's a total, giant knob!" he exclaimed. "And I mean that quite literally, too," he added, a weak attempt at cracking a joke to unwind her a little. He wasn't sure he understood what she seemed to insinuate, like there wasn't a good reason to rejoice over the fact that Vogler was gone somehow.

She puffed and glowered at him.

"Yeah, Vogler was an ass. But his $100 million could have bankrolled the medical equipment that we _need_, helped create a few jobs, even allow some of the current staff a raise."

"You're offering me a raise?" he asked, his smile conspicuously teasing.

"You think you're so much better than he is, don't you?" she snapped somewhat angrily.

His eyebrows flew up in surprise.

"Huh? Where does that come from?" he said, bafflement registering in his voice.

"What did you come here for?" she asked again, more insistently this time, looking him straight in the eyes with a piercing gaze.

He gulped and cast his eyes down briefly.

"I… uh… I came here to thank you," he replied self-consciously, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wanted to say that… err… what you did was-"

"Reckless, and stupid… and _irresponsible_."

"I thought that it was pretty bold," he told her, and there was no mistaking the little hint of admiration in his tone as he said it.

"Yeah, right," she huffed sarcastically. "Thank you, I feel much better now."

"Cuddy, come on. You weren't afraid to raise your hand and vote to get rid of him. And, from what I've heard, that shows more balls than all the other men combined in that room."

She let out a slightly derisive laugh and rubbed her forehead with her left hand, pushing some loose, raven curls away from her face.

"Vogler wanted to vote on my immediate dismissal," she explained, sounding both defeated and embarrassed by her admission.

"But you didn't let him. You fought back."

"Yeah. And now he's gone. And so is his $100 million."

"Fuck his money!" House said resolutely. "I have every faith in your ability to talk plenty of other guys into signing you big checks to make up for the loss. It's only a matter of choosing the right cleavage, really. And, for the record, I have every faith in your ability to do that, just as well."

Her eyes widened and she stared at him completely stunned by his nerve.

"You really don't get anything," she spat bitterly. "The fact that your sexual innuendos totally lack subtlety, not to mention that they're a blatant insult to my professional competence is one thing but you just couldn't help yourself, now could you?"

His eyebrows flew up in surprise and he leaned forward on his cane, coming ever so slightly closer to her.

"What did I do now?" he asked, upset.

"What did you do? _What_ did… Ha. I can't believe you have to ask!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation. "You purposely pissed the guy off the second you saw him walk into the hospital and threaten to turn your little daily routine upside down! You never showed one ounce of good will even when it came to following some completely insignificant, basic rules like wearing a coat or just-"

"He wanted me to get rid of someone on my team!"

"Because _you pissed him off_!"

"He was going to fire Wilson! He was going to fire _you_!"

"_You_ set that stupid, escalating testosterone war off in the first place, what with you systematically needing to have the last word, no matter how totally immature it is. Goddammit, House do you even think about the consequences of your actions? Why do you always have to be so damned obnoxious every time you're confronted with another human being that shakes you out of your comfort zone?"

"I like my comfort zone," he replied daringly, his voice getting louder. "And _you_ like your comfort zone, too. You hated that guy just as much as every one of us did, don't deny it. He showed up and trampled on your baby, questioned your authority and forced you to submit to his every demand. What were you going to do, uh? Yield? Obey? Don't bullshit me, Cuddy. You and I both know you disagreed with his methods."

"So what? Contrary to you, House, I know how to compromise whenever it's necessary. It doesn't mean I have to like it, but sometimes you just _have_ to... That's how things work. But _you!_ You wouldn't be able to behave like a normal, responsible adult even if your life depended on it. You're a child, whimsical and temperamental. You throw tantrums and-"

"Maybe I'm all of those things. But at least, I'm not a sucker. I can still look at myself in a mirror and not be ashamed of that huge, brown smudge in the middle of my face."

His voice had grown louder and his tone was reproachful. He stared at her defiantly, waiting for his deliberately spiteful comment to poke the right spot.

"You're blaming _me_ for trying to save your ass?" she retorted angrily.

"I'm not blaming you for that! But you let Vogler control you-"

"You were going to get fired!" she shouted.

"Is that what this is about?" he spat, resentfully. "I told you, Cuddy. If it caused you such an ethical problem to stand up for me, then all you had to do was to let him win and get rid of me!"

"And then what would've happened?"

"Then, you'd have kept your precious dollars," he said disdainfully.

"I don't care about Vogler's money!"

Her voice cracked and he heard her shudder a breath before she swiftly turned her back on him and clutched her fingers tighter around her arms.

"If you'd lost your job, nobody would've hired you, and you know it!" she said after a while, her voice slightly wobbling as she whispered the words.

His eyes widened in stunned surprise as realization suddenly hit him.

"Wait a minute, here… This isn't about the money, is it? If you didn't care about that, then why are you so pissed?"

She stubbornly stayed silent, and oddly, it only helped him see it all the more clearly.

"It never was about keeping the money," he reasoned out loud, incredulous. "All this time you… you just wanted to keep… _me_?"

"Fuck you, House," she snapped, still facing away from him.

He swiftly took the few steps that separated them and stood resolutely in front of her, staring intensely into her glistening eyes. What he saw there completely paralyzed him and he felt suddenly helpless, but mostly terribly stupid.

"Are you… crying?" he asked, feeling ill at ease.

"No," she denied, just as a single droplet rolled down her cheek. "I'm angry."

"Why?" he asked, softly.

"Because you act like this is just the way things ought to be, like _you_ are the most rational choice that needs to-"

"I _am _a very rational choice," he said, with the tiniest hint of teasing in his tone. "A choice _you_ made that I'm very grateful for."

She puffed and looked away as another tear rolled down her face, along the bridge of her nose. He sighed heavily, feeling uncomfortable.

He knew she was not used to displaying any kind of weaknesses, and that she was probably blaming herself for letting her feelings show in front of him but somehow he also knew that, if she was still allowing herself to express them, that was because he, better than anyone else, knew exactly what lay underneath that shell and she was aware that there was no trying to hide it from him. They played a game made of power plays and sexual innuendos every day. They constantly challenged each other and pushed each other's buttons in ways nobody else was, but eventually it would never completely erase that other, powerful thing between them. As diffused and unclear as it was, as shy and repressed as it tried to remain, it was there and they both knew it. And sometimes, it felt good just to act upon it.

"Don't beat yourself up over this," he said softly. "You did good, Cuddy. You always do. And I'm not talking about me. I'm talking about your ridiculously naïve and Manichean idea that Good should always defeat Evil."

He slowly raised his hand to her face and tentatively cupped her cheek with his palm, gently wiping the salty bead away with the pad of his thumb.

"You're not good," she said, ever so slightly leaning into his touch.

"No. But _you_ are," he added, his hand still on her face. "It's highly dysfunctional and totally delusional too, by the way, but that's what you believe in. And you stood up for it."

He pressed his fingertips on her temple just a little harder and took a tentative step towards her. Her breath hitched and she stared at him wide-eyed. He searched for signs of rejection in her gaze and when she didn't move, he leaned down, slowly, and pressed his lips against hers in the softest kiss.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, short of breath, when he leaned in again for another kiss.

"I'm saying thank you," he breathed, his mouth just inches away from hers. "You may be angry right now, but you saved my ass. You put your job on the line for me, Cuddy. That's-"

She leaned back to put some distance between them and covered his mouth with her index finger to silence him. His hand slid off of her face when she did and she looked up at him, questioning him with a look of confusion that was also unmistakably mingled with lust. They stared intensely at each other for several, silent seconds until House, never letting go of her eyes, wrapped his fingers around her slender wrist and gently removed her hand from his mouth. He kept her imprisoned in his grasp, so she raised her other hand and cupped his jaw. Tentatively, he turned his head to the side and rubbed his stubble inside her palm, before laying a kiss in the hollow of her wrist. She swiftly took her hand away as if she'd been burned by embers, and looked down at her other hand, which he was still holding in his.

"Vogler's gone. But I'm still your boss," she said, looking up again as she tried to regain some poise.

"Yes, you're _still_ my boss," he acquiesced, putting the emphasis on the word 'still'. "That's my point, and also kinda the reason why I'm here _thanking you_. You've no idea how good the sound of that feels right now."

He took a few steps back then, and sat down on her couch, tugging at her wrist and bringing her with him in the process until she toppled forward, and landed on top of him, straddling his lap.

"So you might as well take advantage of it while it lasts," he added with a roguish smile. "I'm not sure I'll be so keen to have you bossing me around a few days from now."

She tried to move away from him and shifted her body to the side but he put his hands on her hips and griped her tightly to keep her still. She stopped struggling and froze, staring askance at him.

"What are we doing?" she asked, her voice low and unsure.

He didn't point it out to her, but inwardly he didn't fail to notice her use of the word "we" instead of "you" she'd used when she'd asked him the same question only a few minutes before. To him, it meant she was now definitely as much aware of the part she was playing in this as he was. It gave him enough strength to carry on in spite of the raging beat of his heart he could feel loudly thumping in his chest.

"Consider this my one hundred million dollar thank you," he told her, with a mischievous grin, keeping his cool nonetheless.

She instantly stiffened and sent him an icy glare.

"Are you insinuating I'm some sort of hooker to you?" she snapped angrily, trying to sit up straight.

He stopped her from fidgeting once more and sent her a non-judgmental gaze, one that felt oddly both reassuring and comforting to her.

"Technically," he replied, his eyes never leaving hers, "you're the one who sat on $100 million to save my ass-"

She imperceptibly relaxed and he covered her knees with his hands, inviting her with a light pressure to sit back on his lap. To his greatest delight, she complied.

"So you're saying _you_ are the hooker?" she said, narrowing her eyes at him.

"None of us is anybody's hooker, Cuddy," he cajoled gently, as he expertly slid his hands up her thighs to her hips and drew the tails of her bathrobe out, revealing the hem of a short, white, silky nightie underneath. She followed the movements of his hands with her eyes for a while and then, shot her head up to look at him.

"Then what is _this_?" she asked, a little breathlessly.

"Nothing. Just… two lonely people seeking comfort in each other."

"I don't need comfort," she quickly denied.

"What if I did?"

She chuckled lightly and studied his face. He locked eyes with her and stared into her eyes with gravity. Taken off guard by the intensity of his gaze, she inhaled a sharp intake of breath and put her hands on his shoulders, ready to push herself up if she felt she had to.

"House," she said, her tone warning. "Don't play games with me."

"No games," he replied evenly. He removed his hands from her hips and stretched his arms out to his sides in a surrendering gesture, as if to indicate he was the one at her complete mercy. "You decide, Cuddy. It doesn't have to be anything other than what it is. Just you and me, right now."

"Why would I want that?" she challenged.

"Why not?" he said, not missing a beat.

She squinted at him and bit her bottom lip; he slouched back into a more laid-back position, resting his head against the couch's backrest to look up at her. Tantalizingly, he studied her reaction with a slightly smug look on his face, or maybe just unnervingly arrogant, but in a way that undeniably started to turn her on.

"You really think you're so good at this I just can't say no to you, don't you?" she told him with a pout, not really knowing if she was mad at him or just aroused by the vision of him, underneath her, arms outstretched to the sides, and quietly waiting for her to make a decision.

"Of course, you _can_ say no. The decision's all yours, Cuddy."

"Are you cheapening yourself to make up for the money I lost because of your insubordination, Dr. House?" she challenged.

"Does it really feel like I'm cheapening myself when you and I both know the reward is going to be so worthy of the loss?" he challenged back, self-confidently.

She widened her eyes, flabbergasted and shifted back, away from him on his lap, unconsciously uncovering her bare thighs a little more in the process.

"You may be one of the best doctors I have, but you're still far from being worth one hundred million dollars," she said bitchily, raising her chin up.

"That's not what I'm talking about," he said, looking her straight in the eyes with burning intensity. "And you _know_ it."

"Are you trying to make me change my mind?"

"Depends. Change your mind about what?"

"About not getting you fired?"

"Not about _that_, nope."

Out of the blue, she grabbed his shirt lapels and compellingly yanked him towards her, forcing him to sit up straight. Instinctively, he put his palms flat on each side her hips and she loosely wrapped her arms around his neck. They stared at each other in silence for a while, both of them smiling mischievously.

"What do I have to gain from this?" she asked.

"Aside from the obvious?" he said, shooting a conspicuous glance at his groin in the small space between them.

"What do _you_ have to gain from this?" she rephrased, eyeing him suspiciously and ignoring his teasing remark.

"Nothing," he quickly replied.

"Aside from the obvious," she added, imperceptibly arching the small of her back forward and applying a very deliberate pressure to the front of his jeans.

He sucked in a sharp breath and tipped his head back.

"Aside from the obvious," he repeated, staring at her through lustful, hooded eyes.

She paused and studied his face, all the while sensually sucking on her bottom lip without even being aware of it.

"You are screwed-up," she finally declared after a short silence, as if she'd just come up with the diagnosis that defined him the most.

"Not more screwed-up than you are," he said matter-of-factly. "The option you had was simple: you either kept 100 million dollars or you kept _me._ And you chose to keep me. If that's not screwed-up, then I don't know what is."

"That's because, even though your methods may be a bit unconventional, you still help building PPTH's reputat-"

"Oh please! I cost you more money than I yield!"

"Are you implying I'm not doing my job properly?" she warned.

"I wouldn't dare!" he exclaimed, perfectly unruffled.

"Why did you really come here?" she asked him for the third time that night.

"Because you're still my boss," he said with sudden gravity, echoing her previous words.

She sighed voluptuously and closed her eyes, relishing the significance of the confession he'd just made to her in veiled terms. He really was thankful to have her as his boss, of that she had no doubt. And maybe he wouldn't dare to exactly phrase it like that but she knew he meant it all the same.

"And just so we're clear," he added after a while, his voice filled with banter again. "I wouldn't be here if there was a chance it'd have been Vogler instead of you sitting on my lap right now. And I mean that quite literally, coz I _really_ wouldn't be here, but most probably in a hospital bed, suffering from massive bone fractures after he'd crushed me under his weight."

She let out a throaty laugh and bent her head down, burying her face into his neck.

"You're such a jerk," she whispered, blowing the words against his skin.

"A one hundred million dollar jerk," he specified proudly.

"Shut up."

She straightened and, without a word, grabbed the lapels of his leather jacket and drew them back, pushing the heavy material off of his shoulders.

"God, I was really beginning to wonder if you'd ever do that!" he sighed, shaking the jacket off him completely and tossing it aside.

She leaned down and covered his mouth with her mouth, nibbling at the pulpy flesh of his lips several times.

"I said 'shut up'," she blew against his chin, biting again before moving to kiss his neck.

"Mm, I like the sound of that," he moaned with a gravelly voice.

Impatiently, he slid his hands in the space between them and seized her bathrobe's knot. But as soon as he started fumbling with it, she promptly grabbed hold of his wrists and made him stop. He shot her a quizzical look, and she sent him a bewitching smile as she moved his hands out of the way and took care of the knot herself. Wiggling her shoulders, she allowed the robe to slide off of her, revealing the sexiest, lacy cleavage underneath. He stared at her barely covered breasts, mouth agape, totally unashamed of the boyish look of pure yearning that was plastered across his face. She smiled when she registered his obvious, almost feral desire and pushed herself up on her knees to reach for his belt. She unbuckled it quickly and fumbled with the button and zipper of his jeans just as fast, hooking her fingers inside the loops and pushing them down, along with his boxers, just far enough around his ass and down his thighs to free his rock hard erection.

When his cock finally bobbed up and lay, thick and throbbing, on his lower abdomen, House sucked in a wobbling breath and threw his head back against the backrest as he dug his fingers into the couch's cushions at his sides. Shamelessly staring down at his manhood, Cuddy hastily hitched her nightgown round her waist while, as his head was slightly tilted backwards, he admired the view from this new angle as she uncovered herself and revealed her nakedness underneath. Her sex was swollen and glistening with her juices and the vision, so perfect and beguiling, squeezed a moan in his throat.

"Geez Cuddy, just fuck me already!" he groaned, totally unapologetic.

He clutched at the curvaceous flesh of her hips and compellingly pulled her down towards his shaft. She beamed, almost victoriously and took his length inside her hand, eliciting another hiss from him. She positioned his cock between her folds and with her hand firmly holding it at the base she tantalizingly rubbed the head against her entrance a few times, without ever pushing it inside her. She felt a bead of pre-cum coat her finger, as it mixed with the dripping proof of her own arousal. She licked her bottom lip, her eyes locked with his, and she leaned down to kiss him. He nibbled at her lips, ravenously, and bucked his hips upward to try and push himself inside her. She broke away from their kiss and lifted herself up just enough not to let him thrust into her and stay in control of the situation.

"You're a bitch," he said, a look of pure elation on his face.

"You're an ass," she replied with a smile, and she lowered herself onto him.

His grip tightened around her hips as she allowed every inch of him to slowly and deliciously stretch her until he was wholly sheathed inside her core. Her mouth fell agape at the sensation, and for a moment she stared at him with her jaw slack, her eyes hooded with lust and a feeling of blissful fullness.

And then, she began rocking her hips, up and down, lasciviously,

His arms circled her hips and slid behind her back, and he placed the palms of his hands flat on her lower back, pressing her against him tightly. With one deft hip sway upward, he thrust into her deeper and she yelped in pleasure. Cupping his jaw in her hands she brought his face up, mere inches away from hers.

"You're not going to get away with it like that," she said, breathlessly, her body undulating with his and matching his tempo as she took everything he had to give without restraint.

He glanced up at her, frowning yet amused, before burying his face in the hollow of her collarbone, rubbing his nose against her skin.

"What are you talking about?" he asked alternating between soft kisses and gentle nipping of the round shape of her shoulder.

"This," she said, tipping her head back and stretching her neck, "is not going to earn you a free-pass to do whatever insane thing you think you have the right to do in my hospital."

"Do you seriously feel like talking about work _now_?" he said reproachfully, but with an unmistakable teasing edge to his voice.

"I seriously feel like… Ahhh!" she gasped, unable to finish her sentence as he'd found a new angle that allowed him to penetrate her even deeper.

For a moment, she completely forgot about what she wanted to say and arched the small of her back, feeling the irrepressible need to rub her sex against his groin in a way that perfectly stimulated her clit and sent her dangerously closer to the edge. She picked up her pace and closed her eyes, throwing her head back as she started panting. The feeling was undeniably overwhelming him too, but he was not ready for it to end, so he forcefully seized her by the hips and immobilized her with a powerful grip. Taken off guard, she reopened her eyes and tried to sway her hips to resume her rocking movements, but he had her pinned on top of him and unable to move. She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him backward a little to study his face. He locked eyes with her and flashed one of his roguish, killer smiles at her to which she replied with a warning glare. Docilely and so visibly pleased with himself it was almost infuriating, he let go of her hips and she began to move again.

"You're still going to do six extra hours of clinic duty every month," she declared, trying to appear as unimpressed as she could by his power games.

"Whatever you say boss," he mumbled dismissively, clearly uninterested.

He smiled, challengingly and nosedived in her neck again. After a few leisurely kisses along her pulse point, he slid his face from her neck to her shoulder and caught the strap of her nightie between his teeth. He pulled gently on the lace to slide it down her arm. The silky material fell down her chest, uncovering one of her breasts. He instantly covered it with his lips, sucking her erect nipple into his mouth and licking the rosy peak with his tongue.

She let out an adorable little squeal and grabbed a handful of his hair to pull him back up.

"I'm serious,' she said.

Shaking his head to free himself from her grasp, he ignored her completely and returned his focus to her breast, sucking on her nipple once more.

"Shut up," he told her, the sound of his voice muffled by the plumpness of her bosom.

He yanked the second strap of her nightie down, rolling the silky fabric at her waist and uncovering her chest entirely. He didn't waste any time to palm her other breast with his hand and kneaded at the soft flesh possessively. When he roughly pinched her erect nipple between his fingers, her chest lurched and she cried out as a pleasuring wave rippled through her and shook her body from shoulders to knees.

"You're not telling me when to sh-"

As soon as she opened her mouth to speak, he jerked his head up and, gathering her long, curly hair in a ponytail at her nape, he forcefully tugged and forced her to tilt her head backwards, sensually arching her closer to his chest with his compelling move.

"I said: '_shut up'_," he repeated, mimicking her previous command as he ravenously kissed the exposed line of her throat, from underneath her chin to the base of her neck.

She groped around to find his shoulders and he released his grip on her hair. She lifted up her head and their eyes met, aflame with burning desire. For a lingering second, they stared at each other, awestruck, their raw emotions totally bare for them to see. His mouth was slightly ajar, his lips swollen and glistening with moisture and she was panting heavily, her hooded eyes glittering with carnality.

It overwhelmed them both at the same time and they quickly shook themselves out of it. She cast her eyes down and stared at his mouth, instantly feeling drawn to it. She'd leaned just merely an inch forward when he dived in, mesmerized by her call, catching her lips in a messy, passionate kiss, as he curled his long fingers around her nape and held her in place.

Domineering, he set the pace of their love dance and slid his hand off her neck to grip her hips firmly and impose his tempo to her: within the next slick thrusts, he either effortlessly lifted her up to enjoy the feeling of sinking back inside her tight inner walls, or pinned her down against his pelvic bone to relish the sensation of reaching the hilt, feeling her pulse around his length as he shoved harder, and harder into her core.

She dug her nails into his biceps and, even through the fabric of his creased shirt, he could feel the marks she was undeniably going to leave on his skin. Her body adjusted perfectly to his rhythm and for the next minutes neither one of them uttered a single word as the small of her back jolted back and forth in synchronized waves, and their low, throaty moans was the only sound that filled the room.

The orgasm, unstoppable and powerful, started building up in their bodies at the same time. The signs were unmistakable as her moans turned into loud cries, and he clutched at her hips with bruising force and buried his face between her breasts, breathing heavily against her sweaty skin. He came in shocking ripples, spurting hot semen inside her just seconds after she let the jolts of orgasm take hold of her body, her tight sex clenching around his thickness until he was no longer hard.

Panting, dizzy and almost drunk with lust, they allowed themselves a few minutes to recover, their limp bodies totally unable to move. Her face was nestled in the crook of his neck as he stroked up and down her spine with his thumbs.

She straightened up first and, with a sigh, extricated herself from his embrace. He moaned in protest, more out of principle than to really express his objection to being pulled out of her as she moved to the side to sit next to him. She quickly readjusted her nightgown, rolling it down so it covered her thighs before putting the straps back on her shoulders. Shooting her a side glance, he took his cue from her and swiftly put his boxers and jeans back on.

_It was not like this was going to go anywhere, anyway_, he thought, struggling to buckle his belt.

"Ttt. Just… let me," she said softly.

She propped herself up on her knees and smiled at him before pushing his hands away and taking care of his belt herself.

"I like the new management policy; definitely better than the previous one," he teased, looking her straight in the eyes when she was done.

She rolled her eyes and rested her hands on her lap, sitting back on her heels.

"You're unmanageable," she puffed, playfulness registering in her voice.

He narrowed his eyes at her and studied her face with an intense gaze that made her imperceptibly squirm in discomfort. He felt a lump tightening his throat and he slowly raised his hand to touch the side of her arm, gently brushing her bare skin with his fingertips. She shivered under his stroke and they stared more intensely at each other for a second. As if mesmerized by her gaze, he wrapped his long fingers around her slender upper arm and, applying a soft pressure, he pulled her down to him, bringing her face closer to his face. She parted her lips slightly and he sucked in a sharp breath, his grip subtly tightening around her arm. It seemed to jolt her out of the dangerous lure she was undeniably feeling for him and, just before their lips could join in a kiss, she put her palm flat on his chest and pushed herself away from him.

"You should go," she whispered, looking down to avoid his gaze, and there was no mistaking the hint of regret in her voice.

He instantly removed his hand from her arm and cleared his throat.

"Yeah," he agreed evenly, pushing with his hands on each side of his thighs to sit up straight.

She watched him as he grabbed his cane and stood up. She swiftly got up after him and they faced each other in silence. She bent down to take his jacket and held it to him.

"Thanks mom," he said, pronouncing the word with an exaggerated pout.

She chuckled and shook her head, putting her palm on his shoulder blade and gently setting him into motion towards the exit. In the entrance, he put his leather jacket on while she held his cane and when he was ready to leave, he simply took it back from her hand and inhaled deeply through his nose. She bit her bottom lip and looked up at him. He smiled, a roguish smile that said he was about to make a smartass comment, but he turned around instead and put his hand on the doorknob.

"I can call you if-" he started, his back to her.

"You don't have to call me," she interrupted him and he turned around to face her again. "We'll see each other tomorrow at work."

He nodded, signaling he got the message and she raised her chin up, her stance screaming 'in charge' as the familiar and incredibly sexy 'bossy' sparkle lit up again in her eyes. He grinned at her, feeling oddly content with how things were between them.

"We'll see each other tomorrow_,_" he acquiesced, before grabbing the knob again and opening the door to leave.

"Oh and, House," she called after him as he was passing the doorstep. "Find a way to get Cameron back on your team."

He opened his mouth to protest but she raised her hand to stop him.

"You need someone whose vision is not entirely driven by the sole, obsessive need to find the truth."

"But truth is the only thing worth obsessing about!" he protested with a flourish. "And Cameron is obsessed with that other, completely useless _thing_ they call… patients," he grimaced, faking disgust.

She tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips, elegantly arching her eyebrows and shooting him that typical 'clearly not impressed' look of hers that had always made him feel funny.

"Precisely! If you can't do it yourself, then you need someone to care about your patients for you. So do whatever you have to do, but get her back on your team," she said bossily.

He puffed loudly and theatrically rolled his eyes upward.

"Fine," he grumbled resignedly, pouting like a child.

She smiled at him, visibly pleased with herself and took a small step forward to come closer to him, patting him on the side of the arm.

"Good," she approved.

"She's totally into me, you know," he warned her with another pout.

"Then you won't have a problem convincing her to come back," she said empathically, patting him again.

He sighed dramatically.

"Good night, House."

He paused to look at her hand on his arm and then planted his eyes back into hers again. She shivered lightly at the unavoidable burning sensation that his intense gaze on her, studying her, made her feel.

"Good night….. _boss_," he answered, his tone an obvious tease as he turned on his heel and left.

- THE END -

* * *

_**A/N**_

_To me, Huddy was there right from the start, maybe not as conspicuous as it became later in the show but even in the pilot, I'd felt it right away with that first elevator scene… Yes, in season one, their banter was more motivated by work issues but there was no mistaking the sexual innuendos underneath half of House's jokes, or lurking gazes._

_Maybe, surely, they'd have never acted on it around that time but the attraction was undeniably there and as House and Cuddy were both two equally sexually-driven characters I kinda like the idea that they could have had passionate, hot steamy sex for no other reason than….. just have it! Even in season 1. :)_

_You're free to think that the scene depicted in this one-shot however held the promise of something more significant because I definitely, and deliberately, left some hints that it could along the way. _

_My goal with each of the First Times one-shots is to find a way to write a first time that doesn't alter canon storyline as it was __**before**__, but mostly, doesn't change what it became __**after**__._

_So I thought that squeezing this one-shot after "Babies & Bathwater" but before "Kids" was perfect because whatever House and Cuddy may have felt for each other in this story, and even if it's reasonable to think that they would have wanted more, "Kids" is the episode where Cameron bargains her return in exchange for a date with House and then, almost right after their epic fiasco at the restaurant, Stacy comes back so it obviously kills every chance for House and Cuddy to explore what could have possibly happened further…. _

_But, and that's the beauty of it, I like the idea that later in season 2, when House asks Cuddy "By the way, why does everybody think you and I had sex? (...)" In "Humpty Dumpty," he could also totally be referring to that… Ha! ;P_

_Anyway, I hope you've enjoyed reading this one-shot as much I've enjoyed writing it. :)_

_Have a nice day ~ maya_


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